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bucklesomeswashswan · 5 years ago

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At the Beginning (4/11)

Once Upon a December Sequel

I am so incredibly sorry for the delay. I don’t have to tell you this has been a crazy time. My work has been slammed, the boyfriend is an ER doctor and he has been stressed, i’m worried about my family and my friends, I canceled my trips I’ve been looking forward to, there are people rioting in the streets. Anyway there’s been some days ( a LOT of days) I haven’t felt creative or motivated to think about writing. I’m sorry. I know a couple people asked for an update as a distraction from the quarantine and the world, but I needed my own and i couldn’t find it in writing.

I hope 15k words (40 pages) makes up for the delay a little. ;)

This chapter is a fun one! And very dear to my heart. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Captain Swan Steampunk Anastasia AU Summary: Emma might have thought her troubles were over after she defeated Gold, the leader of the Industrialists. But not everything is as it seems and Misthaven is in danger. Mysterious new faces and gangs lurk in the shadows as Misthaven struggles to find its footing in the power vacuum left behind when the Industrialists fell. Time is running out to regain control and alliances form and crumble as the betrayals come from those closer and closer to Emma. Will she be able to have the life she always wanted with her family and Killian or will the secrets from the past tear apart everything she thought she knew?

Rated M- earning this rating a bit here! AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Start over with Once Upon a December [AO3]

Chapter 4: Love is a River

Emma picked at the muffin in her hands as she watched the men unload the wagons outside the palace. A train had arrived two days ago in Steveston just as the storm clouds had started to build. All of their things brought to them just as the air turned even colder.

She shivered against the winter air that blew in through the wide open front doors. Snowflakes floated lazily in after heavy boots and slowly melted on the cold marble floor. She watched the piles of boxes in the entryway grow with mixed feelings.

It had been two days since she’d gone to the city with August, and it had shaken loose a storm of memories that still hadn’t completely settled. Seeing the city again had made everything feel real. Looking at those streets and buildings with new eyes, it felt so different than it had just a few months ago when she had arrived, alone, and desperate to leave. Now she wasn’t running. This was the place they were fighting for, broken and lost in the same ways she was. Struggling.

And yet she had also found a spark of hope there. She knew now there was a way she could learn to control her magic. Someone to help her protect everyone she cared about. She smiled around a bite of muffin.

A warm weight of soft fabric settled over her shoulders as someone placed a jacket there protecting her against the cold. A small and welcome gesture. She pulled the coat a little closer, enjoying the comfort before turning toward the person who brought it.

“August,” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect-”

She tried to ignore the sinking in her heart at the realization she had hoped it was Killian, that maybe it was a sign he had forgiven her.

“You looked cold standing here alone,” August said.

“Alone?” she repeated glancing at all the people all around them. “I’m hardly ever alone now.”

She saw him take in the bustle in the entryway, the looks sent at the two of them together. The way they always watched her, waiting, for some success or disaster, she wasn’t sure which anymore. The din of her new life.

“You know what i mean,” he said.

He meant Ruby and Killian. Ruby had gone to the Lost Boys, and Killian was giving her space. She knew he was upset that she had gone to the city with August. If she were being truthful, she knew she had been avoiding him too.

“I’m fine,” she told him, as if saying it out loud would will it to be true. “We’re fine.”

He watched her for a moment before speaking. “Good. I wasn’t going to leave you here without any friends.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m leading the envoy to Ludgate Island. We need to secure the prison.”

She heard the words he didn’t say, we need to secure Gold. The memories of him squeezed at her heart: his voice taunting her, the feeling of the amulet pulling at her, fear creeping up her spine. If Gold escaped...

“When do you leave?” she asked.

“An hour.”

So soon. She thought of the map they had laid out in the library a few nights ago, the path south toward the sea and the strait of rough water to the rocky outcropping of Ludgate Island. It wouldn’t be an easy journey.

“How long will you be there?” she asked him.

His sad expression was answer enough. She frowned as she watched him, wondering if she would see him again once he left. Drifting out her life again.

“We all have our parts to play,” he said and his eyes met hers and held. “I need to protect Misthaven from him.”

The way he said it made it clear that he was going there to protect something, someone, more specific. It hung there, unspoken. That loyalty that never faded. The words he wouldn't say.

She slid his coat off, the cold air making her miss it instantly. She carefully, slowly, folded it and pressed it back into his hands. “Thank you,” she said hoping he would understand.

He took it and then reached around to pull a pistol from his belt and held it out to her. An offering. A reminder of the danger that stood before them.

“I don’t want that,” she said, stepping back.

She remembered the train leaving Misthaven, the cold steel of a different pistol in her hands, taking aim at the blackguards chasing after them from the forest. She shivered at the memory. The sight of Killian’s wound, his blood dried on her fingers.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, “but I need to know you’re safe.”

Emma considered his words for a moment before she took the pistol, feeling its weight. Her fingers tightened on the handle. Muscle memory, muscles she had never wanted to develop.

“Goodbye, Princess,” he murmured and pulled her gently into a warm hug.

She held him tightly, silently wishing him strength and luck on his journey. Their paths splitting again, their stories tangled but not quite connected.

“Morning, Emma. August,” Killian said from beside them, startling her.

They broke apart and she swung around in surprise, she hadn’t heard him approaching.

Killian’s expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on August even as he gently pushed the barrel of the pistol in her hand away from where it had been pointing absently at him when she turned.

“I was just leaving,” August said with one last look at Emma before he turned away from them.

Killian’s eyes followed him until he left the room before turning to her.

“You could be nicer,” she scolded him, tucking away the pistol. “He’s on our side. We’re old friends,” she said.

He nodded. “Friends.” It sounded cynical.

Emma rolled her eyes, she knew that look. “Now’s not the time to be jealous, Killian.”

He didn’t respond. That irked her even more.

“I don’t get jealous of you and Ruby,” she pointed out.

Killian blinked. “Ruby is family,” he told her as though it were obvious. “He doesn’t look at you like he sees you as a sister.”

She shook off his comment, she wasn’t going to argue with him. Not over August. Not when he was leaving and there was nothing more to say. Not when there was so much the two of them needed to say instead. Everything they had been avoiding. She looked at him across the distance that had formed between them the last few days.

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

His eyes widened slightly and she could have slapped herself hearing how her words sounded. He pulled back slightly, adding again to that distance.

Whatever she had expected or hoped his answer might be, it wasn’t the words that followed. “The Queen wants you to get ready. You’re heading into the city again today.”

“The city?” she asked. “Why?”

“To distribute the supplies and food from the train directly to the people.”

She glanced at the stacks of crates in the entryway.

“A publicity stunt?” she guessed.

Killian frowned. “No. To help them, Emma. That’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it?”

Shame burned through her. She was still adjusting her perspective. She had been skeptical of authority for so long that sometimes it was hard to remember that not everything was a trick. She wondered how many of the people in the city would react the same way she had. Jaded. Betrayed too many times.

She looked at Killian, someone who struggled for everything he had. Who was more used to losing what he earned. And yet here he was, still able to see the good around them, to believe in a better future.

“Of course,” she said. “When are we leaving?”

He looked almost guilty for a moment. “I’m not going with you, Emma,” he said.

Dread twisted her stomach making her feel faintly sick. She knew she had allowed this tension between them to fester but never had she meant to push him away in a meaningful way. Panic rose up within her.

“What?” The word came out a little broken. “I need you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t be seen with your family, Emma. There are already too many rumors. If we want to maintain any cover for me, or more importantly Ruby, about our loyalties, then I can’t stand in front of a crowd by your side and declare allegiance like that.”

She took a breath trying to calm herself. What he said made sense, he was thinking strategically. Still the thought of facing so many people and being the princess they wanted without him almost brought her to her knees.

“What if they didn’t see you with us?” she asked slowly.

He tilted his head, not understanding

“Follow after us, join the crowd, come with the guards. I don’t care how, but I want you to be there.”

He ran a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh and nodding. He didn’t look glad for an excuse to go with her, he looked almost defeated. “Aye, love,” he said at last. “I can do that.”

It didn’t completely ease her worry or feel like a victory. Not when they were being twisted and pulled by loyalties and duties. Not when it felt like a chore or a gamble for him to follow her. Were there forces stronger than them that would tear them apart no matter how much they loved each other? Was their love only one that survived in quiet times and gentle hours?

She opened her mouth to speak, an olive branch, the words she hadn’t said for days on the tip of her tongue. They just needed to talk, a moment to themselves as everything swirled around them.

“Princess Emma,” a lady’s maid said appearing at her side. “You’re needed upstairs.”

Emma blinked at the girl, needing just another minute. But when she looked back at Killian she knew the moment had slipped away.

She was herded toward the stairs to prepare for the day, away from Killian. When she glanced back at the landing he was already gone.

Her mother was waiting for her in her room. Directing the others as the trunks of Emma’s things were unpacked, overwhelming her space with tulle and embroidery, gold and sparkle. Pieces of a life she hardly knew.

“There you are,” her mother said, coming over to pull her close. Her smile as she watched everything get unpacked was almost contagious. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“These are all mine?” Emma asked looking at the armoire already bursting.

Her mother just squeezed her arm, “Of course. Come on, we need to find one for you to wear today.”

Emma sat on the bed as she watched her mother flit between the fine gowns. Her fingers trailing down the fabric and straightening out long trains. This one would bring out the green of her eyes, that one would flatter her figure.

Emma looked around feeling a bit lost. It was like trying to pass an exam after missing all the lessons.

“I’m not sure we can show up in intricate ball gowns,” Emma said at last. “Most of the people there are living off nearly nothing. Won’t it seem... uncaring?”

Her mother set down the dress that had been cradled in her arms. “It’s not uncaring. Today we are going to bring hope, because I love this kingdom and we have come back to see beyond the despair to what it could be again.”

Emma glanced away, looking at the dress lying beside her. Tried to see it through her mother’s eyes. A way to return to a time that had been better. Her family getting back everything it had lost.

This dress was simpler, pale blue with embroidered silver flowers cascading down to the floor. “What about this one?” she suggested.

Her mother’s face lit up, pleased Emma seemed to be taking an active interest. “It’s perfect.”

Emma had the feeling her mother would have said that about anything Emma had picked. Sometimes Emma wasn’t sure what parental love or approval was meant to feel like. Was it a desperate attempt at any connection after so long apart or was it genuine?

But there was something that felt right about letting her mother help her fasten the small buttons at the back of the dress. A vague memory of days long ago. For a moment she felt like this was something mothers and daughters were meant to do. For a moment she felt that sense of family.

Emma’s fingers played at the delicate threads in the flowers. It must have taken countless hours by a steady experienced hand. And now it was hers to wear. She wondered if it had been made with her in mind, or if it was something they were all hoping would fit. Something fit for a princess.

She stepped over the mirror by the window. She thought of the gown she’d worn to the ball in Glowerhaven, when she’d fought Gold. She remembered how lost she had felt buried under all that fabric. This reflection looking back at her felt more familiar. Maybe she could do this, one step at a time.

She waved off the shining jewels they offered her. One small step at a time. She was still getting used to the weight of it all even without the added weight of diamonds and gems. She knew she would only get there by keeping in touch with who she was. And a part of her would always be that orphan girl. Two worlds in one person. Two lives coming together.

Before she felt ready Emma had joined her parents at their place in front of the wagons. She looked back at the group of people who would follow them, seeing no sign of Killian. There were more faces than she had expected. She kept a close eye on them as they walked away from the palace toward the city, watching for any unease on their faces, any wavering of their conviction, any hint of a lie in their intentions. Any signs of danger.

But as they entered the city her attention slipped to her parents, curious what their reaction would be. She remembered the feeling of the city when she had first seen it. The way the buildings had pressed in around her, the hopelessness that permeated from all sides.

The city seemed to hold its breath as they breached its limits. The streets quiet, empty, people pulling back, hiding from the approaching mass, as if they were an invading army.

She watched her mother as her eyes moved over the buildings, and how they rested on the faces peering hesitantly from dirty and broken windows. Shuttered behind their barriers, wary. Maybe they had been wrong, maybe there was no hope for them to regain the favor of these people who had learned over the years to hide and ignore the horrors just outside their doors to survive.

Emma sensed more than heard the sound from the shadowy corner of a collapsed storefront. She paused, wary of some threat. Everyone else stopped and followed her gaze, a few confused whispers echoed behind her. But instead of some hulking monster, a small shape stepped from the shadows.

It was a young girl, her apron spotted and torn, her hair tangled from the wind. Emma knew the look of someone who hadn’t slept tucked warmly in a bed. How many times had she looked like that? How many people over the years had looked away as if she wasn’t there, wasn’t their concern. But now she stood frozen in place watching the girl approach curiously.

Her mother broke away from the group moving toward the girl, kneeling down, her skirts folding onto the dirt and stones on the street. She beckoned her closer. There was something so trusting in the motion. Every hard lesson Emma had learned on the streets screamed at her to haul her mother back. The weight of the pistol hidden in her cloak burned against her as the girl moved closer.

A guard appeared at Emma’s side moving to assist the Queen. He was not brandishing a weapon but instead held a small loaf of bread from their supplies.The Queen offered him a smile in thanks as she took it and held it out to the girl.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The girl’s eyes locked on the bread and she half ran the last few steps grabbing the loaf. She bit off a big chunk, a smile spreading over her lips.

“What’s your name?” the Queen asked the girl. Her voice was gentle, mothering in the way Emma had missed out on for so many years. She blinked looking away, a tightness in her chest.

The girl looked from the Queen to the group behind her. Taking in their clothes, the wagons. “Paige,” the girl answered softly.

The Queen beamed at the small girl. “Hi, Paige,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Paige gave another shy smile and took another bite of the bread.

Emma couldn’t help but think her mother was good at this. Where Emma had seen only a possible threat her mother had seen the truth. Not someone to fear but someone to help. Was this who she had been when she had ruled Misthaven? Was this why people had loved them? Was this why they were so sure the people would follow them again?

“Paige, can you do something for me?” The Queen asked.

Paige nodded slowly.

“Go and tell your family, your friends, and anyone you come across that the King and Queen are in the city and they’ve brought food and supplies for anyone who needs it.”

Paige’s eyes widened rising to look at the wagons stacked high with crates.

“Those are full of food?” she asked.

“Yes, there’s lots of food for everyone.”

She hardly needed any more encouraging. Paige turned and rushed up the street and out of view.

It wasn’t long before the faces hidden behind windows and shutters became people stepping out into the street to see what was happening. To confirm the rumors. And their numbers swelled as they made their way through the city until like a strong current they flowed through the streets gaining momentum.

~*~

Ruby watched the sun rise through the morning. The way the sky had turned from blue to gray to rose and then to gold. The light shining off the metal gutters and shimmering on the canals. Before the city woke up and the bustle started there was a moment when the city was crowned in light and gleamed like treasure. And then the sun rose fully and showed the city for what it really was, the light exposing all the darkness, the fairytale burned away.

She shifted her position, the slate roof beneath her uncomfortable after hours tucked up on top of the old central train station. From here she could see the main avenues and canals. Even the silent rails stretched out from where she sat in every direction. She watched over the city like a spider at the center of a web, waiting for something to fall into her trap.

It had been two days of prowling dark corners and crouched between buildings relearning the pulse of her city. The mundane goings on, stolen phrases of a hundred passing conversations, cross sections of a thousand people’s lives. From this perch and vantage point she took in everything.

It had been two days since she had gone back to the Breaker Street Factory and Peter’s knowing smile and this new assignment. Sentry duty. Perhaps a dull and unpleasant job, but she knew this task was a test of her loyalties and an assessment of her skills. It was what she would have done to test a new recruit. Besides, she didn’t mind it so much, it beat a council meeting. Hadn’t she been wishing for just this not long ago?

“So, I’m not the only person who knows about this spot,” a voice drawled from the shadows.

Ruby jumped to her feet drawing her dagger as a figure moved from behind one of the gargoyles she had thought were her only company up here.

“Who are you?” Ruby asked wanting some clue as to how this person got up on the ledge without her noticing. Maybe she wasn’t as good at this sentry thing as she had thought.

The figure stepped further out of the shadow, light falling on a slim figure in woven armor. Her black hair lifted off her shoulders from the breeze. Her dark eyes cool as she looked at Ruby.

“Peter sent me,” she said.

Ruby glanced around almost expecting to see others, perhaps a whole group sent to collect her. But they were alone on the roof.

“Is he calling me back?” Ruby asked.

The newcomer shifted into a casual pose but her expression remained hard. “No,” she said. “He sent me to follow you and watch what you did.”

“He thinks I’m going to betray him.”

It made sense. Peter was covering himself. This was a test with multiple layers. He wanted to be sure of her allegiance. He had made it quite clear when they had met that he knew she had ties to the royal family. He certainly seemed to know about Killian and Emma. Her only play had been to try to convince Peter that she was disenchanted with all of them. That she wanted to strike off on her own.

The woman shrugged before moving with sure feet over the sloping roof. She eased down beside Ruby, her dark hair shining in the sun. Ruby’s gaze traced over her face, her sharp eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ruby asked.

She stared out at the city before sighing.

“Because I know who you are Ruby Lucas. And I don’t think you are loyal to the Lost Boys.” Ruby opened her mouth to make some sort of obligatory protest but she continued. “And that makes you my best chance at an ally.”

Ruby’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. “Who are you?” she asked again.

“My name’s Mulan,” she said, turning to face her. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Ruby wasn’t sure there was anything she could do about it anyway. After all Mulan had tracked her, scaled the side of a building after her, and knew her secrets. She was clearly skilled. That and the large sword strapped to her back. Ruby eyed it warily. If the armor was any indication she probably knew how to use it too.

Mulan noticed Ruby’s attention on the sword. She smiled and it transformed her, softening her fierce demeanor. If Peter had sent her as a trap Ruby was suddenly afraid of just how adept an opponent he might be because she could imagine herself falling willingly into this one if she let her guard down.

“Cursebreaker,” Mulan told her.

Ruby stared at her blankly.

“The sword,” she clarified.Trying to gain a little of Ruby’s trust with information. “It’s called Cursebreaker. It can cut through anything, any material and any magical enchantment. It’s been in my family for generations.”

Ruby traced the intricate engravings on the hilt, a mix of images of dragons and symbols in a language she didn’t know. It was a work of art, its history carved into it. It must have been valuable. And they had entrusted it to Mulan. That kind of faith told her a lot about Mulan.

“I don’t have any family heirlooms left, everything was lost in the revolt,” Ruby said. Though the way her grandmother had tutted about her clumsiness she probably wouldn’t have been given any even if she’d had the chance.

Mulan looked down at the streets below them. “You grew up here?” she asked.

“I thought you said you knew who I was,” Ruby challenged.

Mulan met her gaze. “I heard about the outlaw. I didn't know about before.”

The way she said it made Ruby curious what Mulan thought of her. Outlaw. It was a disapproving word, but her tone hadn’t been.

Some instinct told her to trust Mulan, sensed a similar heart looking back at her.

“My grandmother was a close friend of the Queen,” Ruby told her.

“That’s why you’re with the royals now?” she asked.

“A lot has happened since my grandmother died,” she said carefully. Not a confirmation and not a denial.

“And you chose to fight back,” Mulan said looking steadily at her. “That is very brave.”

Ruby blushed, being called brave by someone in armor felt like a big compliment.

“I’m guessing you’re something of a fighter too,” Ruby said trying to turn the conversation off of her to safer territory.

Mulan tugged at the gauntlets on her wrists. “The world doesn’t always lead you down the path you dreamed of.”

“What did you dream of doing?” Ruby asked, surprised by how much she wanted to know the answer, some insight into who she was.

Mulan leaned back a little, looking up at the sky. “I dreamed of making my family proud.”

“Are they not proud of you?” She thought again of the sword she carried.

Mulan met Ruby’s look. “I don’t know,” she said.

It wasn’t what she’d expected her to say.

“Where are they?”

Mulan’s expression darkened. “They’re gone.”

Ruby looked away. “Orphans of the revolution,” she murmured, Peter’s words. “I see why the Lost Boys recruited you.”

“There are a lot of reasons people join the Lost Boys,” Mulan said. Ruby perked up, this was what she’d said they needed to talk about.

“Why did you join then?” Ruby asked.

Mulan’s reply was interrupted by excited shouts from down on the streets. They both looked down at the commotion, people moving out into the streets beckoning others to follow, until at last the royal banners and guards turned down the avenue. The procession made its way over the wide stone bridge that spanned the main canal headed for the heart of the city.

Ruby stood up from her hiding place and slid to the edge of the roof for a better view of the square where the royals had come to a stop. She could just make out the gold shine of Emma’s hair in the center. A roar went up from the crowd as a large crate from one of the wagons was pried open and sacks of grain were pulled out and passed to the people there. She watched a small girl with curling brown hair scurry across the bridge to the edge of the crowd intent on seeing what was going on. Ruby instantly felt like she was looking back through the years at a younger version of herself. She even found herself scanning the surrounding people for a small Killian darting in between the crowd probably picking pockets.

“You have to tell Peter,” Mulan said quietly beside her.

Ruby looked at her, expecting to see judgement, waiting to see if she would go inform the Lost Boys. But there was only sadness. Like she understood exactly the position this put Ruby in. As if she had walked that very line before. Duty and betrayal.

She wondered what Mulan had traded to get into Peter’s good graces.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” Ruby said standing.

Mulan watched her from where she remained sitting. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

She said it like this exchange was some habit they had formed over years. For a moment it was easy to pretend Mulan was someone she had known all her life. Ruby bit back a small smile and turned away.

Ruby dropped out of her perch and made to head back for the Breaker Street Factory. A part of her hated walking away from where she knew her friends were, away from what felt safe and deeper into danger. Her thoughts spun as she walked the empty streets. Something about meeting Mulan had left her feeling disoriented, confused, like she’d heard a joke but hadn’t understood the punchline.

When she entered the abandoned factory she found Peter easily enough in his office atop the spiral staircase. Sitting at his desk beside a roaring fireplace looking out the windows at the city like a hawk watching for scurrying prey.

“Ruby,” he said in greeting before turning around to face her. An unnerving display of just how much he knew of what was happening around him.

“The royal family has entered the city via the east gate and moved to the central square,” she told him without any preamble. “They’ve brought food for the people.”

Peter turned to her and leaned back in his chair seeming many years older than he looked. “How many guards did they have with them?” he asked her, watching her carefully.

She weighed how much information to give him without compromising the royals’ security measures.

“Around twenty,” she told him, hedging on giving an exact number, but supplied him a little extra information so he wouldn’t notice, “They’re armed with swords and pistols.”

“Industrialist weapons?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Traditional.”

He sneered, a wicked light in his eyes. “Fitting,” he mused. “At least we have a definite advantage there.”

Ruby’s chest tightened at his words, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the implication that the Lost Boys had the royals significantly outgunned or the way he seemed to be including Ruby in his ‘we’.

He reached into a compartment in the desk and pulled out a dusty bottle of triple distilled whiskey. He brushed the dust from the cap before opening it. Clearly he didn’t break this out often. She couldn’t help but feel a little honored when he pushed a glass toward her. She joined him as he took a large sip, enjoying the way the liquid burned down her throat.

A small comfort as her heart hammered in her chest under his watchful gaze.

“How will they leave the city?” he asked her

She frowned. “I don’t know, I came straight here to inform you.”

He took a sip of the whiskey and Ruby found herself copying him. “What would you have advised they do if they had asked you?”

She thought for a moment. Mapping the city in her mind, places she would have told them to avoid, the quickest routes. She took into account the number of people, the possibility the adoring public might follow them out.

“I’d tell them to follow the canal and circle back the way they came in.”

“But you don’t know the actual plan?” he pushed.

She shook her head. “It’s only a guess,” she told him.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass looking at it speculatively. “This isn’t an operation that is carried out on a whim. Gathering the supplies, intelligence, managing security. Surely they planned this at the council meetings,” he said.

She paused. He was right. This wasn’t the sort of thing you could have planned in the last day or two while she had been gone. And that meant they had discussed this while Ruby had been at the lakeside palace with them but they hadn’t included her. Ruby tried to ignore the sting. She took another sip of the whiskey.

“They wouldn’t leave something like this to chance,” Peter said, thinking aloud. “They probably tested the route, had someone case the area.”

He looked over at her. The question clear in his expression.

Ruby tried to remember if she had heard any mention of that happening, any mentions of people or guards leaving to go to the city since they arrived. Emma had been in the city with August. But August was leaving to Lydgate, they wouldn’t send away their source of intel. She tried to think if anyone else had been sent. And then her heart dropped. Killian.

She and Killian had gone to the city. The Queen had told them they were going ‘only to collect information.’ It seemed baldly obvious now. She remembered thinking Killian and the Queen seemed like they were hiding something. It all fit into place. Was he keeping secrets from her too? The thought cut deeper than she’d expected. She felt as if she’d been sliced open and her organs were falling out onto the floor as she helplessly watched.

“Maybe they don’t trust the council,” Peter said offhandedly but Ruby only heard maybe they don’t trust you.

There was a buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t focus.

“They’d be right to be suspicious,” Ruby heard herself say as if she could dull the hurt of betrayal by striking back. “There’s more than a few council members who aren’t as loyal as the King and Queen think.”

Peter’s eyes flashed in the firelight flicking up from the glass in his hand.

He poured her another glass, she couldn’t remember finishing the first. She took another long sip. It seemed to help calm her. That burning rage settling into a glowing ember.

“They’re being reckless,” Ruby said, it felt good to finally say it. “They have no idea what they’re getting into. They think they can march in here and people will embrace them. As if nothing over the last thirteen years even happened.”

“There must be people on the council who have tried to warn them,” he prompted.

She shrugged. “I guess. But they’ve also surrounded themselves with people who think like they do. I suppose Emma is the best bet to make them understand. They will listen to her. Lord knows she has a good idea what this world is actually like.”

“I suppose their followers don’t trust Emma because she missed so many years of the training she was meant to have had to be princess,” he said.

Ruby shook her head with a bitter laugh. “Not exactly. I suspect a good portion of them would follow her, even over their loyalties to her parents.”

He took another sip of the whiskey as he pondered her words.

“I find loyalty is a tricky thing,” he told her thoughtfully. Like he was speaking to an old friend. “It is slowly earned and easily broken down. Too much pressure put on one person, too many lies, and suddenly it dissolves. I’ve had that problem in the Lost Boys. People I thought, I hoped, would rise to be top ranking members, important in our organization, and they let me down. I am much more careful who I confide in now.”

She looked up to meet his eyes, the steady way he was looking at her. The spark of hope in his eyes, as if maybe she was exactly who he had been looking for.

~*~

Killian watched from the fringes of the crowd as people fawned over the royal family. Today the smiles he saw around him were real. People passed him clutching bags of grain and newly cobbled pairs of boots. They remarked to each other how good it was to have the royals back.

It was going better than he’d dared to hope. His eyes were drawn once again to Emma. She shone at the center of the crowd, smiling brightly and shaking hands with anyone who came up to her. The crowd loved her, their beloved princess returned to them. The hero who had defeated Gold, the one who had saved them from the Industrialists.

But as she hauled the large bags off the wagons beside the guards she didn’t seem so elite or intangible. Here she seemed like she belonged, one of the people who surrounded her. She could dress in elegant dresses, but he smiled as he thought how there would always be a bit of the scrappy girl from the streets in her. She wasn’t a delicate shrinking violet, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, and that was exactly what the country needed.

A tall man pushed past him, knocking him back a step, and Killian might not have paid him any notice if not for the scowl on his face. So different from all the other faces around them that were beaming and delighted. Killian turned just in time to see the afternoon light glint off something in the man’s belt. It took a second before Killian realized what it was, an Industrialist pistol. He watched the man slink off, down one of the narrow streets off the square.

He looked around wildly for any sign they were under attack from Industrialist sympathizers. But there was no commotion, no uneasy faces in the crowd. No flashes of blackguards or black masks. He looked back just in time to see the man disappear around a corner, and he acted on instinct, turning away from the royals and the square and giving chase after the mysterious man.

He caught up to the man easily, keeping a safe distance as he trailed him through the city. At last they broke through the gridded city blocks to the docks. Killian paused. The area was emptier than he’d ever seen it. There were no airships docked, no workers bustling around, no raucous singing spilling from the row of taverns. This place had been the heart of Misthaven industry and trade. Now it decayed, empty and forgotten. It was another sure sign that the city was broken.

He was struck by another thought: this was where he had first met Emma. Years ago, both of them living entirely different lives, neither of them knowing what dangers lay ahead. He remembered the sight of her, shining brilliantly as she stood against the blackguards. The old Misthaven going up in flames around them. It looked very different than it had that night.

Killian saw the mysterious man slip into the cracked doors of one the warehouses clustered by the docks. He sidled up the door peeking through the opening but the place seemed empty, no sound reaching him. His instincts warned him that this could be a trap, but he needed to know who the man was. If he posed any danger. Why he had that pistol.

Killian ducked inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim room. There were groups of dusty crates scattered about the room, pushed aside, forgotten. He took a few steps moving further into the cavernous room toward a flickering lantern at the far end of the room.

Closer he could see the light was sitting on a table that had been fashioned into a workbench of some sort. Pliers and bolt cutters sat among gears and welding supplies. He looked around confused. The Industrialists hadn’t operated like this, they had centralized production in large factories, not a single workstation tucked forgotten into a warehouse.

“What are you doing here?” the man said appearing just to Killian’s left brandishing the very pistol that had caught his interest. “Answer or I’ll shoot you.”

“Hold on,” Killian said, holding up his hands. “I was following you.”

“Is that supposed to convince me not to shoot you?” he growled.

Killian turned to him with his hands still raised. He seemed only a few years older than Killian but his hair was graying at his temples and his small dark eyes and slight frame gave him a slightly manic look. His hand was shaking as he held the gun at Killian.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he told the man.

“I have the gun, if anyone is getting hurt it’s you,” he retorted, giving the gun a shake for emphasis which was not as menacing as it was meant to be. Mostly it told Killian that the man didn’t have much experience with firearms, which did nothing to explain why he was in possession of an Industrialist gun.

“Easy,” Killian said, taking a step toward him raising his arms a little further. “Let’s start over, shall we? My name’s Killian Jones. Who are you?”

“Walsh,” the man said.

He watched skeptically as Killian slowly lowered his right hand toward him. With a moment’s hesitation, the man reached out to shake Killian’s hand. Mistake two, Killian thought as he grasped the man’s hand, it would be only too easy to disarm him and pull the gun from his other hand now. But Killian simply shook his hand and stepped back, overpowering him and putting him on the defensive was not going to get him any answers. He sensed that letting Walsh believe he was in control would yield the best results.

“What is this place, Walsh?” Killian asked looking pointedly toward the workbench.

Walsh glanced from the bench and Killian to the gun and let it fall to his side. Mistake three. Clearly Walsh was not accustomed to dealing with unsavory people.

“This is my workshop,” he answered.

Killian took quick stock of the room for anything else that might be a weapon, either one he could use or something that might activate against him.

“What is it you make here?” he asked him, moving to run a finger down the edge of a set of intricate gears that looked like the locking mechanism of a complex safe.

“I invent things here,” Walsh said with a hint of pride in his voice.

Killian turned to him.

“I’m carrying on where the Industrialists left off,” Walsh continued.

Now they were finally arriving at it.

“You’re an industrialist,” Killian said halfway between a statement and a question.

Walsh frowned. “The Industrialists are gone,” he said slowly in a way that sounded almost like pity, like he thought Killian might have been too thick to notice.

“Who do you work for then?” Killian asked.

“I work for the people,” he said. Killian waited but he didn’t elaborate.

“What do you make?” Killian asked again.

Walsh moved over to the bench straightening a few things and then wiping down the lock Killian had touched, cleaning off the spotless surface. “I make what is needed. That’s what true innovation is. That was what the Industrialists were doing, and now that they are gone I must continue. We can’t afford to let this much knowledge and progress be lost just because some man was defeated.”

Killian froze. For someone who couldn’t even hold a gun steady Walsh sure brushed off Gold’s existence like it had been nothing. It only added to the mystery and puzzle that only seemed more complicated with every small piece of information he provided.

“That is what innovation is all about: moving society forward,” Walsh continued. “It shouldn’t play to the whims of who is in political power at the moment. We can do things today we never even dreamed of ten years ago. We have access to manufacturing techniques that no other place in the world has. We have solved problems of transportation, sanitation, energy production, and medical care. We can’t lose those just because the Industrialists fell. Everyone has demonized them, but they did give us many things we never had before.”

Killian couldn’t deny there was some truth to his words. A perspective he had never considered before. But still his instincts warned him that Walsh’s free agent attitude made him too much of a wildcard to just leave uninvestigated.

“How many others are there, helping you?” Killian asked. He needed to assess the danger this kind of fringe group might be.

“Others?” Walsh asked, again looking like he thought Killian might be dimwitted. He gestured at the dark and empty warehouse. “You think there are so many left? That the engineers and inventors weren’t run off when Gold was defeated? You think the factories weren’t burned down? You think there are workshops hiding in every spare corner? You think there’s some weekly meeting I could attend? Maybe for tea or knitting circle? Perhaps we could start a cricket team, huh? You think I wouldn’t give anything for a sharp mind to collaborate with? To not be surrounded by weak, subservient, placated people who have no desire for progress?”

Killian worked to keep his expression unreadable as he felt a surge of indignation. This was the hubris and arrogance that had made Gold and the Industrialists unbearable. The way they could talk about helping the people and bettering society and then in the same breath insult and belittle the very people they claimed to champion. They cared only about seeing how far they could push science and the glory of discovery. They didn’t care about who was crushed to make it happen.

Walsh could wax poetic about innovation, but he could tell now that parts on the workbench were several pistols in various states of production. Walsh was making weapons.

“Who’s buying these?” Killian asked.

Walsh half pushed one of the pistols under a rag before seeming to realize it was pointless. He didn’t bother looking sheepish.

“There’s always a buyer. Some will pay top price to be well outfitted.”

“The gangs?” Killian guessed.

“There are some who know the value of good craftsmanship,” he said. “The powerful gangs have been around longer than the Industrialists, older than the stones of the city and just as important to its structure. They were imbedded just as deeply with Gold as the Industrialist big wigs. And when the industrialists fell some ran but some adapted, blending into a new landscape. Wearing a new mask. It wasn’t hard to find buyers, hell, some found have been buying from me for years.”

“The Lost Boys?” Killian asked him point blank not bothering to veil his interest.

Walsh swelled with unmasked pride. “Peter has appreciated my work for some time. Now he contracts exclusively with me.”

Killian felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been blind not to see this coming. “You can produce enough weapons from this workbench for the entire gang?” Killian asked him.

“I’m very good at what I do,” Walsh told him.

Humble too, Killian thought. Walsh would likely be more than happy if Gold managed to escape imprisonment and rise again. Killian wondered again how many others like him there might be, biding their time in the shadows. He almost couldn’t believe it but he was actually glad for August, he only hoped he made it to Lydgate Island soon.

“So are you going to arrest me?” Walsh asked him.

“I’m not the police,” Killian said, he wondered for a moment when he had reached the point so far from who he had been just months ago that he could be mistaken for an officer.

“You are with the royals,” Walsh said, not quite a question or a statement. The mirror of his own accusation that Walsh was an Industrialist. An invisible line between them.

Killian smirked. “I’m not here to arrest anyone.”

Walsh looked him over one last time before he turned his back and sat at the workbench. “Then I’ll ask you to see yourself out. This is private property.”

Killian looked for a long moment at Walsh, back turned. Vulnerable. Unprotected. Completely engrossed in his work once again. His silhouette edged in golden light from the glowing lantern.

He wondered for a second if he was making a mistake, not taking an easy opportunity, as he turned and walked away. Exiting the warehouse and leaving Walsh alone. The man determined to continue to change the world, but he was clinging to the past just as much as any of them.

He had to warn the others.

On the streets the day was clouding over, promising snow. He had barely turned the corner from the warehouses when he ran right into someone. He stumbled back in surprise before he registered the person in front of him.

“Emma?” he looked around. “What are you doing here? Why are you alone? Where’s your family?”

“I came to find you,” she said looking over his shoulder toward the docks. “Where did you go?”

“Followed a possible threat,” he said gesturing towards the warehouses. “I need to find Robin. We need to get a warning to Ruby. I don’t think we can trust Peter, he has a connection to Gold, and she’s walked right into his trap.”

“Killian, you can’t blow her cover to tell her to be careful of the person she is spying on. I'm pretty sure she already knows that. Besides you can’t just go walking into Peter’s stronghold and ask to talk to her.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I need to find Robin. He’ll be able to pass a message to her from within the Lost Boys.”

Emma frowned. “But we don’t know where Robin will be.”

“Actually, I do.”

She considered that carefully, crossing her arms.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

He was surprised by her response. “No, Emma, not for this. It’s no place for a princess. You should go back with your family.”

“I’m going with you, Killian,” she said stubbornly.

He sighed knowing she wouldn’t budge. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” she said, making him look up because she so rarely begged. “I want to help Ruby. She’s my friend. Being a princess can’t stop me from helping people I care about. I don’t want to be just a figurehead, a symbol for people to use how they want.”

He thought of the way her face had fallen when he had told her he couldn’t go with her this morning. That fear of abandonment that gripped her no matter how much he tried to assure her.

“Okay,” he said at last.

She looked relieved, like she hadn’t expected him to agree. “So, where are we going?” she asked him.

He watched her carefully as he told her, “The catacombs.”

He enjoyed the stunned way her jaw dropped open before adding, “and you’re going to need a change of clothes.”

She looked down at her dress. “Who’s going to care what I’m wearing? The dead?”

He chuckled. “You’ve clearly never been to the catacombs,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“What does that mean?’ she asked him.

He just turned and beckoned her after him heading for shops up the street. “You’ll see.”

Killian led the way into a store tucked into a dingy corner, there was no window display, not even a sign advertising their wares. A rusted bell clacked roughly above them as he pushed open the door.

The room beyond the door was dimly lit with old gas fixtures, their light a slight green color. And everywhere there were crowded and cluttered shelves, stacks of moldering books and piles of wrinkled clothes.

“Is that Killian Jones?” the old woman behind a warped counter said. “I hate to think what i’ve done to earn this visit.”

“Miss Agatha,” Killian said with warmth in his tone. “Does a fellow need a reason to visit a beautiful lady?”

The woman’s eyes slipped past Killian to where Emma was standing just inside the door. “Seems you already got a beautiful lady.”

Killian struggled to hold back a smile. “Agatha, this is Emma,” he said gesturing to where Emma was hovering behind him.

“I know who she is,” Agatha said looking her over. “The whole city is buzzing about it.”

“Right,” Killian said. Agatha was always quick to get down to business. “That’s actually why we’re here. We need something a little less conspicuous.”

They all looked at Emma’s embroidered dress.

Agatha huffed a laugh, the sound of an engine backfiring. “I never knew inconspicuous to be your style, Mr. Jones.”

“Times change,” Killian said with an easy smile.

Agatha looked between him and Emma again. “That they do. I see you’ve lost your usual shadow.”

Killian shrugged. “Ruby’s on official business at the moment.”

Agatha seemed to file away that information, not everything she sold was as tangible as metal or linen.

“Shame, that girl knows how to spend money.”

Killian stepped forward and dropped a small pile of coins on the counter. “She’s not the only one. I’m trusting this will buy discretion as well.”

Agatha scooped up the coins almost as soon as they hit the counter. “Don’t insult me, Killian. We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Agatha, you are a true gem,” he said.

She scoffed but it didn’t cover her small smile. “Stop flirting or your girl will get jealous,” she said with a wink, easing gingerly off her stool onto arthritic joints. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ll see what we’ve got that suits you. Follow me.”

Emma looked a little startled at being addressed and glanced to Killian who gave her a small encouraging nod. She followed Agatha around the counter along the racks of clothes.

Killian perused the shelves in the front of the store while he waited. Agatha’s had always been a place you might find anything. Usually at a good discount from the shops on the high street or the wide avenues at the center of the city. If you weren’t concerned with how the items got here or if the official tariffs had been paid or if the shipments logged with the authorities, then Agatha’s was perfect.

The shelves showed no sign of organization, antiques shoved beside cooking ware, hardware beside candles. You would be lost if you were looking for something specific. Here, you just happened across treasures, waiting for you even when you didn’t know you were looking.

Agatha reappeared at the counter. “She’ll be a minute. She’s trying a few things.”

Killian nodded looking at a small metal box with an intricately carved keyhole. There was a note pasted to it that said unable to open, key lost.

He stared at the metal box thinking of Walsh’s crowded bench. “Agatha,” he said. “Have you heard of anyone buying up old Industrialist parts.”

“Sure,” she said and he swung around in surprise. “Lots of folks are trying to get spare parts now that there won’t be any new production. Just the other day had some rich folks from the East Side going to every store trying to find a back up engine for their laundry washer. Guess they’re terrified they might have to wash clothes manually like the rest of us.”

Killian frowned. Maybe it was too much to hope it’d be easy to figure out how many Industrialist sympathizers were left.

“Will you let me know if someone comes looking for gun parts?” he asked her.

She put a hand on her hip tilting her head. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she laughed to herself. “Get trouble stuck to you like shit on a pig.”

Agatha, always delicate in her word choice. Closest thing he’d ever met to how Ruby described her grandmother. He thought they probably would have gotten along swimmingly, Granny and Agatha.

“Don’t you go dragging that sweet girl into all that,” she said, her tone serious.

He heard Emma’s footsteps approaching. “Who says she’s not the one dragging me into it?” he responded.

Agatha shook her head pursing her lips. But before she could say anything else Emma appeared and he completely forgot about everything except the way her bodice skimmed her curves, tightly fastened with bronze buckles. Her skirt was patchwork but it hung on her like the finest silk. She looked like she’d be at home in the rowdy bars by the water making some steamboat captain fall in love with her. She looked like she was from the city, like this was her home. Like she belonged here.

“Well, that’s...” he trailed off, words escaping him, “much better.”

Emma walked toward him and he watched the sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts over the corset. Gods above.

She nudged him playfully. “My eyes are up here, Jones.”

He blinked letting out a weak splutter. He didn’t even bother looking over at Agatha; he could only imagine her expression.

“Come on, let’s go,” she said, her hand finding his arm. “Thank you, Agatha. Truly.”

“Mmhmm, you take care, dear,” she responded, and yeah she was definitely laughing at him.

Small flakes swirled in the air as they stepped back out onto the street. He took a deep breath the cold burning his lungs, cooling a little of the fire that had roared inside him. Much as he might have wanted to explore each and every layer of Emma’s new look he knew they had something more important to do.

“Follow me,” he said, leading her back towards the central canal. The lamps were beginning to flicker on, casting a warm glow to the buildings, a substitute for the sunset that was hidden behind the thick gray clouds. He thought of the winter solstice only a couple weeks ago and he wondered if there had been a celebration this year. If anyone had put out lanterns and holly wreaths in the chaos of the Industrialists fleeing Misthaven. Winter Solstice had always been his favorite holiday.

At last the street they were following ended at the canal. Its murky water lapping at the stone walls. Emma followed him as he ducked under the small bridge at the next cross street onto a narrow path along the edge of the water until they got to a small opening in the stones in the bridge’s supports.

“This leads to the catacombs?” Emma asked, looking a little warily at the dark tunnel.

“There’s multiple entrances throughout the city,” he told her. “These tunnels run all under the streets. Some say they go all the way to the castle.”

“They do.”

Killian looked over at her, surprised by her matter-of-fact tone.

She caught his glance before adding, “It’s how my family escaped the castle during the revolt”

He stared at her. It had been a common theory that the royals had been smuggled out through the tunnels. But Emma had never spoken since about that night since her memories returned and it caught him off guard.

“Come on,” he said and held out a hand guiding her the first step. “It’s okay.”

Emma took stilted cautious steps into the darkness. The sounds of the canal fading behind them.

“Do you have a light or something?” Emma whispered.

“Just a little farther,” he told her and sure enough when they turned a corner there ahead was a line of torches burning along the tunnel, out of sight from the hidden entrance but beckoning them on.

“Are they always here?” Emma asked

“Every night.”

“How many people know about this place?”

He knew she was asking questions because she was feeling out of her element. Nerves making her ramble. He remembered when she had stitched his shoulder, the words tumbling out of her to calm them both. He smiled at the memory of her touch.

“It’s one of the city’s secrets, but that doesn’t mean it’s a particularly well kept secret.”

They followed the torches through the maze of tunnels, the ground sloping up and down at times, occasionally sounds of dripping water could be heard leaking in from the canals overhead.

Finally the tunnel opened on a large cavern, a sunken chamber of the old catacombs. Already there was a large number of people gathered in the space.

Across the crowd he could see the alcoves that were nestled in the walls and corners, bones scattered along the walls mixed with the rough stones all around them. Music hummed in a thumping rhythm. A pulse beating through the people. The flickering light flashed off metal buckles on a hundred coats and boots and the thick spectacles pushed up from the faces of the factory workers. And it made the bones in the walls appear to shift and dance until it was hard to tell what movement came from the living or the dead. It was the illusion, the magic of this place. Everyone was equal here, surrounded by so many reminders of death. The one thing everyone had in common. It should have made it haunting, but to Killian, this was a place people came to feel alive.

Emma looked around the room in obvious shock. He tried to see it through her eyes, tried to remember the first time he had been here. Sent to gather information about smuggled goods for the promise of much needed coin. He’d been only a boy and this place had seemed like something out of the novels he read. A place more wonderful and terrible than fiction.

“How are we ever going to find Robin?” Emma breathed hopelessly looking at the mass of people. Ever practical, his Emma. Maybe she didn’t see the romance of this place.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the crowd.

She pulled back uneasily, her eyes darting around. “Wait, what am I supposed to do?”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Blend in,” he grinned, leading her deeper into the cavern.

He grabbed two glasses of bubbling green liquid from a tray, slipping the man a coin. He passed one to Emma. “Cheers, love.”

She eyed the cocktail warily. “What is this?”

“This is how we blend in.” He lifted his glass and she tentatively touched hers to his.

He tipped the glass back taking a long drink. The burning taste was familiar to him but Emma coughed lightly beside him before putting on a brave face and taking another sip.

They wove between the people, Killian keeping a sharp eye out for Robin. Emma stuck close by his side and he became aware of the way the others were looking at them. No, at Emma. A mix of surprise and curiosity. It seemed no clothes or green drinks would allow her to blend in. Her identity shone from her, an integral part that could not be buried or forgotten.

A few people gave her smiles, nods of thanks. Whether for her efforts that morning or what she had done to rid them of the Industrialists he didn’t know. But for whatever their reason they seemed generally pleased to have her among them. One of them. Not above them, uncaring or disconnected, but here offering a shy smile.

“You’re causing a bit of a stir,” a voice said beside them. Killian turned to see Robin leaning casually against the wall of the cavern.

“Robin,” he breathed in relief. “We need a word.”

Robin cast a glance over their shoulders at the others in the room. “Maybe somewhere a little quieter.”

He moved into one of the small alcoves, a narrow twist in the hewn wall of the cavern. Here too bones and skulls lined the walls. Small rivulets of water leaked down over the bones like phantom blood, and shadows clung thickly here tucked away from the torches.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to make good on this offer quite so quickly,” Robin said to Killian.

But Emma simply rushed forward pulling Robin into a tight hug. He looked a little surprised before tentatively returning her embrace.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling back. “For everything you did for us.”

“My lady,” Robin replied, bending his head in a small bow. “What’s a favor between friends?” he said, his eyes lifting to Killian.

“Actually, since you mentioned it,” Killian said. “We’re here for another favor.”

Robin smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Killian glanced behind them but there was no one observing them. “It’s Ruby. I need you to pass her a message.”

Robin looked a little wary but he didn’t make any protest.

“Peter has connections to Gold,” Killian said, not wasting any time. “I think they used to work together. He’s buying industrialist weapons. We are trying to secure Gold but even from within the prison he may make a move against the royal family. Peter knows about Ruby’s history. She’ll be in considerable danger while she’s there.”

Robin glanced at Emma beside him. “Peter has been working to acquire weapons for some time. I’ve been suspicious for a while that he plans to move away from petty smuggling and racketeering and use the Lost Boys as his personal army. I have a few allies within the gang, we are working to gather more information.”

“Will you watch out for her?” Killian asked him. “Will you get her out if this goes badly?”

He hated that he couldn’t be the one watching Ruby’s back. Trusting someone else with that job felt like being asked to wear someone else’s face, fundamentally wrong to his sense of self.

“Killian,” Robin said, pausing to wait until he met his gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

He tried to let that promise comfort him.

Robin pulled out a worn bronze pocket watch. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together. Stay here a while longer.” His gaze moved again to Emma. “People seem receptive to your presence. If you want to harness that political power you should show them you can understand them.”

“Does everything need to be about politics?” she asked with a frown.

Robin looked at her steadily. “Your life will be endless politics, Your Highness. And in politics, perception is everything.”

“No,” Emma said meeting his gaze. “In politics your allies are everything. I am very lucky in mine.”

Robin chuckled. “You’re already better at this than you think you are.”

With a small nod he pulled on his hat and ducked out of the alcove and disappeared into the crowd. Killian turned back to Emma.

“I suppose we could stay, let you get the whole experience,” he said nodding to the crowd.

Emma frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to be seen together.”

The words were like ice piercing him. He’d never meant for her to take his words from this morning that way.

“Emma, that’s not-” he broke off. “Robin will watch out for Ruby now. We might as well stop pretending. People have already seen you here, seen us together. Everyone already knows. I don’t want to act like this is something we need to hide.”

They moved from the alcove. The music had picked up and all the eyes that met his now had a shine from the effects of the brightly colored drinks. He could see Jefferson across the cavern with bottles of his illegally distilled wares, he’d probably make a good profit on a night like this. Tonight there was an infectious sense of celebration among everyone gathered. Nights like this were his favorite in the catacombs.

Taking her hand Killian guided Emma into the group of people dancing. If there was no need to try to conceal themselves any longer he wanted to make the most of this. Emma hesitated standing a little stiffly beside him as he came to a stop. He could see the uneasiness in her eyes.

He ran a hand down over the curve of her waist, as he’d wanted to all evening, the leather soft beneath his palm. He leaned a little closer to her. “It’s okay, Emma.”

“You trust these people?” she asked him quietly so they wouldn’t be overheard.

He glanced around, many of the faces ones he’d seen before, a few he could put names to. He’d squabbled and schemed alongside them for years, but trust? “No,” he told her before adding with a smirk, “but I’m here to keep you safe.”

He bent his head, his lips brushing the edge of her ear. He felt her take a shaking breath. “Give in to it,” he told her, pulling her into the sway of the beat of the music. Give us a chance he begged her silently.

She relaxed into him, following his lead. His heart leapt at the feeling and he buried a smile into her soft hair.

Energy coursed around them, the drums beating a steady rhythm, vibrating up through the stone at their feet. It was like they had crawled beneath the skin of the city to find the beat of its heart. All around them the dancing was getting more uninhibited, freer. All the worries and fears that hung heavily in the streets were shed down here, as if they could all be reborn again to then return and face another day above.

This was not like the waltz he had taught her or they had danced at her parents’ ball in Glowerhaven. This was instinctual, sensual. The two of them moved together. He loved the feeling of her in his arms. His hands ran over her back as she lifted her arms twisting to the melody, her head falling back, her hair brushing over his knuckles.

This Emma, the one he had seen at the coast, was a favorite of his. The one who didn’t have the worries of the world on her shoulders. The one that let herself be vulnerable. He loved seeing past her thick armor.

The crowd surrounded them, pulling at them like currents of the sea trying to pull them under. It would have been easy to be swept away. To get lost in the feeling as he had on numerous occasions in the past. To drink deeply from this dangerous draught.

But he followed her sparkling eyes, her hand tugging him gently. He needed little coaxing, it was always her, only her. And she was guiding him away from the tight press of the others. People moved aside for her as she cut a line through them. He noticed again the way they looked at her, admired her, but she had eyes only for him. She led them out of the crowd and the cavern up the sloping tunnels until the only sounds were the echo of their footsteps, the swish of her skirts, and pounding of his heart.

They broke the surface, the night air biting at them. He looked at Emma, the way her exhale swirled in the air. It was hours after the sun had set and the cold had settled heavily over the city in its absence. Goosebumps broke out over her bare shoulders and arms.

He shrugged out his jacket closing the distance between them, his arm coming around her, stepping into her space as he draped the thick material over her. She trembled next to him, his nose inches from her cheek. He could feel the heat of her skin, smell her perfume, feel her breath on his neck. His eyes found her lips, just parted, almost as if caught in a small gasp. He needed her.

“Killian,” she breathed so quietly he might have imagined it. A stray wish of his heart. But he could see that same desire burning in her gaze. There was no fear, no trace of uncertainty.

She stepped forward, her hand against his chest and she pushed him back a step until he shored up against the brick wall. His surprise was instantly forgotten as her lips found his, hungry. He smiled as she nipped at his bottom lip.

He bent down his hands sliding around her underneath his jacket gripping her tightly as he deepened the kiss. She melted, warm and pliant, into his embrace with a small moan that made his heart nearly stop. Her hands were everywhere, running through his hair, pressed into the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

She pulled back a fraction breaking the kiss, her forehead against his.

“I don’t think we’ll make it back to the lake,” she said against his lips.

He breathed out a laugh nudging her lightly with his nose. “Eager, love?”

“I just mean it’s too cold,” she said with a breathless laugh. “We’ll freeze before we get halfway back.”

He smirked bending to place kisses along her jaw. “There’s ways to stay warm,” he said each word pressed into her skin.

“Killian,” she scolded.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I know a place where we can spend the night.”

She pulled back looking up at him. “Where?”

With one last kiss he took her hand. “You keep forgetting, this is my city,” he said and as he led her away from the catacombs deeper into the city he melted into the shadows, skirting around places that were busy this time of night and carefully avoiding clear sight lines from the buildings around them. Falling back into old habits.

They crossed the main avenue and turned down an alley, ducking between broken slats of an old decrepit fence, weaving a path that had once been very familiar to him. Tonight had felt like reliving a memory from years before, except now Emma was here, something different from his memories. But she didn’t question him once, falling into step beside him, as if she had always been there.

When he came to a stop in front of weathered door tucked into the side of a leaning building he glanced over at her.

He watched as her eyes moved over the chipped stones and dirty windows. He tried to imagine what she saw, a dingy slum, nothing like her palace by the lake. Creeping fears of inadequacy slithered from the corners of his mind.

“Was this your home?” she asked him.

He bit down on the inside of his lip. “Come on, with any luck it’ll at least be a little warmer inside.”

He pulled off his glove to pull out the lock picks that were tucked into the metal workings of his mechanical hand. With a practiced move he slid the picks into the lock and felt the pins catch, he turned the lock and with a firm shove of his shoulder the door opened.

He looked back to see her half-confused, half-impressed expression. “Ruby has the key,” he said with a shrug. He couldn’t have told her how much her answering laugh eased the pit in his stomach.

“Careful on the stairs,” he warned her as he moved inside the dark entryway, the only light was from a narrow window letting in a sliver of moonlight illuminate the uneven worn stairs.

The wood groaned with each of their footsteps. He paused at the top looking back just in time to see Emma’s foot catch on the last step knocking her off balance. She stumbled forward and he caught her, pulling her into him. She let out a shaking laugh as she righted herself.

“Sorry,” she said, still gripping him tightly, as close as they’d been when they were dancing, and kissing in the alley.

He leaned closer, brushing her hair back behind her ear and running his thumb down her cheek lingering at the soft skin just below her jaw.

He gazed at her, held in that moment framed in moonlight and dust. Ethereal. A single star in an otherwise cloudy night sky. She shouldn’t feel like she belonged here, he thought, but her eyes held that breathless look of wonder and warmth that felt more like home to him now than any four walls could.

“This way,” he said, reaching back to open the door behind him and holding it open for her. She stepped around him into the room beyond.

He moved by memory in the dark room to the fireplace on the far wall. He opened the chimney flue and swept the small pile of ashes and dust aside before stacking a few new logs and lighting them with the matches from the flint box in the crevice between stones in the hearth.

He turned back to Emma. She was standing in the center of the room he had lived in for years and he couldn’t quite decide how to react to the sight of her in his room. Emma, Princess Emma, the girl who had haunted him, an impossibility for the boy who had lived here. And yet here she was, her eyes moving around the room.

He lit a few of the candles scattered around the room, adding more warm light to the small room.

Emma dragged her fingers slowly over the surface of the desk, shifting a few of the papers there. And then she paused at the stack of books, a small smile tugging at her lips as she read the titles. A private memory.

She looked over at him.

“I thought you were living at the castle,” Emma said, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. “Just conducted some business there.” He took a step toward her, closing a little of the distance between them. “If you can break into the castle, people tend to believe you can do whatever else you say.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly, “All part of the act.” She glanced around the room again. “But this, this is the real you.”

He leaned against the desk.

“It isn’t much,” he said.

She stepped closer with deliberate slowness into the space between his knees, her eyes held his. “It is to me.”

Her words flooded through him, drowning out everything else. “I love you so much,” he told her.

A wide smile lit up her face. “I love you, too,” she said.

It was the first time she had said it in weeks. He knew she had been occupied with everything else, but now, her voice echoing in his ears, the words hanging between them, he didn’t know how he had survived a moment not hearing her say them.

“Say it again,” he begged her.

“I love you,” she said, no hesitation or uncertainty.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, his hands coming up to either side of her face as he kissed her, his fingers tangling into her hair. He had thought he knew what it was to love Emma, the weight and feel of it, but now as he kissed her he felt himself falling deeper, some depth there would never be any escaping from.

He pushed his jacket off her, his hands trailing down the length of her slim arms. Her hands worked clumsily at his waistcoat until with a shake of his shoulders he helped her remove it, tossing it onto the floor beside the jacket.

Emma pulled back then, slowing them down. Her eyes moving over his face, her expression contemplative. Her fingers reached up pushing back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. They traced the edge of his brow, across his cheekbone. He held still under her featherlight touch. At last she brushed his lips, and he placed a small kiss to her fingertips. She smiled despite herself, her eyes flicking up to his in a playful scold before they dropped back to where her hand had moved to the line of his jaw.

Her lips parted absently, like she hadn’t noticed, as she moved down the column of his neck. He shivered beneath her fingers, her careful investigation driving him wild.

When she reached the collar of his shirt she slowly undid the buttons, carefully pulling open the fabric. She bent forward to place a kiss over each new inch of skin revealed. He wasn’t sure he was still breathing by the time she reached his navel, her fingers pulling the hem of his shirt from his waistband.

He captured her wrists pulling her hands away from him, unable to endure it any longer. He turned them setting her on the desk before bending her back onto it in his need to be closer to her. She seemed just as eager, reaching for him, their hands interlocking as he pushed them over her head. There was a crash as books and trinkets toppled over the edge.

“Killian!” she gasped. “All your things.”

He glanced at the mess of papers for a second before placing a kiss on the soft skin of her neck. Nothing in the world could have pulled him from his current task. “Everything I care about is right here,” he assured her.

He kissed down over her collarbones, down her sternum to the tops of her breasts, feeling her heart beating there. She arched beneath him and he kissed the leather edge of the corset.

“I love this,” he told her, leaning back to take in the sight of Emma spread out on the desk dressed like a tavern wench. “You look beautiful.”

She laughed. “Should have known you’d have a thing for leather given that ridiculous coat.”

His fingers moved over the corset, tracing the buckles, slowly opening them. “You don’t like it?” he asked, drawing little meaningless designs into the leather with his fingertips as he went.

“I’m actually a little worried about the damage it’s done to my spleen,” she huffed.

He chucked. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said before tugging it off of her.

If he loved her in the leather fashion of the city, then he was hopeless for her bare skin. His hands skimmed up the sides of her ribs, his thumb dragging just beneath the swell of her breast.

She sat up wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him. He knew what she wanted without her needing to ask. Her body pressed against him, her skin warm, her heart pounding. He picked her up with an arm under her knees and carried her to the bed. Honestly he didn’t think the desk could handle what he wanted to do to her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands finding his waist, tracing the lines of muscle there, following along the indent from hips. He bit his lip as his skin jumped, her gentle touch making him ticklish, not that he’d admit. He knew from her smile she knew, but she didn’t tease him. And this time he didn’t stop her as she loosened the laces on his trousers, pushing them off.

He leaned forward, moving to cover her body with his own, but she hooked her leg around his hip and rolled him under her. He laughed in surprise, looking up at her hovering over him. He loved when she used his own tricks against him.

She settled back onto his lap, her hands dragging down his chest as she held him still. Taking charge. Her expression was speculative, like an artist seeing a masterpiece within a blank canvas. In that moment he was ready to become whatever she wanted to make of him.

She bent down, her hair cascading down over him, strands of golden silk. Her kiss spread fire through his veins and he wanted to be consumed. His hands slid up her thighs bunching up the fabric of her skirt gripping her skin tightly as if it could anchor him to her. Everything in their lives seemed to be spinning further beyond their control, a thousand variables, a hundred reasons pulling them apart. He wanted this moment, this feeling, this night, just for them. And just let the rest of the world flow past.

She gave a small gasp as he pulled her more firmly against him. And it was a wicked torture when she responded, rolling her hips. Emma was never one to be outdone, never backing down from a challenge. Her fingers moved quickly to undo her skirt, letting it fall over the edge of the mattress, leaving nothing at all between them.

“I need you,” she said breathlessly against his lips. It was the sweetest sound he could imagine.

His hands found her hips as she sank onto him. His breath escaping in a long shaking exhale. Her braced against his chest and shoulders as she began to move and he surrendered to the feeling.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs crew #steampunk anastasia au #sequel #at the beginning #sorry for the wait #my writing

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years ago

Text

Winter Wolf: Part 12

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst

Word Count: 5,485

Box Filled: Gender Swap

A/N: This series was written for @marvelfluffbingo and it took on a life of its own. Enjoy!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It surprisingly took Steve a lot longer than you expected to return to Wakanda on ‘official royal business.’ You were laying on the couch in your living room, watching four and a half month old Anastasia laugh hysterically as she swatted at the colorful, handmade yarn dolls a woman at Bucky’s job had made for her that were hanging above her head. You smiled at her as you reached out and pushed one of the ones closest to you so that it would catch her eye and laughed with her as she kicked her legs and reached for it.

The knock on your front door startled you and you quickly sat up and grabbed the gun you had wedged between the couch cushion and the back of the couch. With quick movements, you got up and walked on silent feet to glance out the window since most people who came over to visit you and Anastasia called first. You peeked out the window and let out a sigh of relief as you turned the four locks on the door and turned off the house alarm system.

“Well I’ll be damned.” You laughed as you stepped back and let a very scruffy Steve into your two bedroom, two bath apartment. “That’s a good way to get shot in this house.” He nearly tripped over his own feet as you locked the house back up, turned the alarm back on, and put your gun on the table by the door.

“What is this?” He asked as he pointed to the little girl on the floor who was looking up at him in awe.

“It’s a baby.” You said with a shrug as you moved the arch away from Anastasia so you could pick her up. “And if we wanna get really technical, it’s a girl baby.” Steve’s face deadpanned as he met your eyes.

“Didn’t realize I became blind overnight but thanks. Where did the girl baby come from?”

“Anastasia…” You said as you balanced your daughter on your hip. “… came from Romania. Her birth mother was an old friend of mine named Daniela who had terminal cancer. Her father was a tourist and Daniela’s moms was a hardcore gypsy that surprisingly would absolutely not raise a baby born out of wed-lock no matter what her husband said. And she was a blatant racist so the mix race thing was not helping Anastasia’s case either. So, Buck and I took her. Well, we didn’t take her, I guess we officially adopted her. T’Challa’s lawyer guy helped us figure out the paper work so her official birth certificate says that we are her parents. So meet your… well technically you could meet your little sister…”

“Oh, my gosh, stop.” He laughed as he reached out his hands to hold her. “Anastasia, you said?” You nodded as you passed over your daughter.

“Anastasia Daniela Barnes. Her mom named her and we figured honoring her mom with the middle name was appropriate.”

“I like it.” He said as he sat down on the couch with her on his thighs. “Hi cutie.” Your daughter looked at him a little confused as she reached out to grab his beard. You laughed and gently intercepted.

“Bucky has to stay either clean shaven or he keeps his beard real short.” You said with a laugh. “We learned really fast that once she gets ahold of something she wants, she will not let go. We both keep our hair back in buns just to keep it out of her reach.”

“She’s beautiful.” He said with a smile as he held onto her sides so that his fingers were supporting her head even though she didn’t need it as much these days. “Now I’m curious. What is she?”

“Romanian, Puerto Rican, Guatemalan, African-American, and a splash of Scottish, Italian, and Greek. I had Shuri run her ancestry DNA when we did a full check up on her when we got her. She was born the day before Bucky and I got married and we got her when she was three days old.”

“God, she’s so cute. I can’t believe you two are parents.” You smile proudly and snagged one of the many toys off the floor.

“Me neither. It’s been a wild ride.”

“I bet.” He laughed as he watched you bop your daughter on the nose with a pink, stuffed rhino rattle to grab her attention. She laughed and reached for it as Steve looked around the living room. “Where’s Bucky?”

“At work.” You said as you handed your little girl her toy. “He got a really good job in IT at the transportation hub. He loves it. He actually should be home in an hour or so if you wanna stick around. I should probably start dinner anyways if you wanna entertain your niece.”

“I think I can handle that, what do you think?” He asked Anastasia, who simply tried to eat her rattle in response.

“Just keep your beard away from her grabby little hands.” You said with a laugh as you got up and headed to the kitchen. “She’s a sneaky little monster sometimes.”

“You can’t be a little monster.” He growled playfully as he picked her up off his thighs and slid down to the floor with her to play. “You’re too cute, right? Yes, you are.” You smiled to yourself as Steve continued to baby talk to your daughter while you got dinner ready for your family and your guest.

With Steve distracting your daughter, you got the homemade Italian dressing marinated chicken, the fettuccini you made from scratch that morning, and the Alfredo you found a recipe for on a website called Pinterest (which was, in your opinion, the greatest thing in the entire world) cooked in no time. You were just getting everything plated when the automatic smart locks on your doors unlocked and the alarm signaled it was temporarily disengaged with a beep. You looked up at the door from the kitchen as Bucky stepped in the door with a sigh.

“Hi baby.” You said with a smile. “We have a visitor.” Bucky looked over at you as he turned the last lock before turning the other way.

“Well I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Captain America. And my little angel.” He cooed as he went over to say hi to his friend and pick up his giggly little girl. “Oh, I missed you!”

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Steve said as he got up off the floor with a laugh. “Playboy Bucky Barnes has a kid.”

“I got bamboozled by the cute.” He laughed as he kissed Anastasia’s forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here on ‘official business’.” Steve said sarcastically with air quotes as Bucky came over to give you a kiss hello. “We’re trying to fine tune the Sokovia Accords and I figured I’d stop in to see how the newlyweds were doing while I was here.” He laughed as Bucky turned his head away from Anastasia before she could grab his bun.

“Didn’t expect the baby, did you?” Bucky laughed as he grabbed one of the plates to help you out before starting a bottle for his daughter.

“Not one bit.” Steve laughed as you passed him his plate and grabbed silverware for everyone. “But then again you two have been full of surprises in the last year.”

“We gotta keep life interesting, Stevie. I’ve been around long enough to know that.”

“Million years really is a long time.” Bucky teased as the three of you sat down at the table to eat.

“Shut up!” You laughed as he laid Anastasia across his arm and his lap and gave her her bottle before you went back to trying her on soft solid food again. He propped it on his chest and used his elbow to keep it upright so that he could still eat and make up for the time he spent away from home that day.

“I’d still love you even if you were as old as the dinosaurs.” He cooed with a smile as you cut his chicken just to make it easier for him to multitask.

“Guys, you’re gunna make me sick before I can even enjoy this meal.” Steve joked as he twirled some pasta around his fork.

“You’ll be fine.” Bucky said around a mouthful of fettuccini.

“So what’s going on in New York?” You asked with a glance over at your friend. “Do you have any juicy gossip for us?”

“Well.” Steve said as he chewed. “Not really. Teams good. We had a mission a couple weeks ago that was a pointless waste of time. Some idiot tried to release anthrax bombs in Central Park and apparently that now requires the Avengers to step in.” He rolled his eyes and sighed with a shake of his head. “Hence the reason I’m here talking to T’Challa. I’m trying to get some semblance of balance to these Accords which is proving to be difficult as expected.”

“How’s Tony?” Bucky inquired with a glance over at you.

“Tony’s… well, Tony. He and Pepper got engaged.”

“‘bout time.” You mumbled as you twirled your fork on your plate. “Is he… has he said anything about me?” You looked up at Steve through your lashes as he shook his head subtly.

“Nothing good nor bad. No one wants to bring either of you up.” You nodded as took a bite of your food to avoid inquiring about the next person but Steve answered the unspoken question anyways. “Natasha’s back. She just showed up about two months ago without a word of explanation of where she had been…”

“Good for her.” Bucky said curtly; still harboring a grudge for your ex.

“How’s Wanda?” You ask to change the sensitive subject. Steve nodded and swallowed his bite.

“She’s good. I think Vision is talking about proposing but I’m not entirely sure.”

“Awe, good.” You said with a genuine smile. “Those two are so good for each other.”

“Yea, yea they are.” Steve agreed with a nod. He could feel the slight layer of tension building in the room and quickly changed the subject to prevent an argument over Natasha. “So tell me more about my niece.”

——

“She’s asleep.” Bucky sighed as he closed the nursery door quietly behind him and trudged toward the couch you had flopped down on after saying goodbye to Steve. With a groan, he laid down on the couch practically on top of you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Finally.”

“I think she’s teething.” You said as you ran your metal fingers through his hair and pulled out the hair tie. “That’s what the book suggested. She was fussy for a couple days but she wouldn’t let me near her mouth to check.” He nodded against your stomach and buried his face in your shirt.

“Did you put those squishy things in the freezer?”

“Yes, James. I can mother, thank you.” You teased as you rolled your head on the arm of the couch to look at him.

“You sure? I still question if I can father, properly.” You giggled with him and laced your fingers together on his back.

“I think we’re doing just fine.” He said with a smile as he looked up at you. “We’re in this together, remember?” You nodded your head as he adjusted his head on your stomach with a content sigh. You let your eyes fall closed, just content on existing in that peaceful moment with your husband. You could feel his fingers making tiny, tight patterns on your back under your loose fitting shirt and moving at a glacial pace up your spine. There was no rush and no urgency, there was just love.

A knock on your front door caused both of you to stiffen and sigh at your ruined moment. Bucky pushed himself up off your chest and grabbed the gun from the couch cushions. You got up as well and purposely moved yourself between the front door and the nursery. With a glance over his shoulder at you, he turned off the alarm and unlocked the doors.

His whole body tensed as he quickly shove his foot against the back of the door and pointed his gun at whoever was on the other side. You instantly backed up to the nursery door and yanked off your shirt so that you would have better movement when you needed it. You tried to make your five foot six, thankfully muscular body as big as you could in the doorway and wished that you had put a weapon next to the door frame like you had wanted to.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Bucky demanded with more animosity and venom in his voice then you had ever heard before. Which meant one of two things; both of which you were not ready to face.

“Can I talk to her?” Natasha asked softly with tears obvious in her tone.

“Shut the door.” You said from your place.

“You need to leave, now.” Bucky growled.

“Please, I just need to see her!”

“You don’t need to do shit!” Bucky snapped back. “Leave, Natasha.”

“Please.” She begged as Anastasia started to fuss behind you. “Please, I just need to apologize.”

“You have no place to say sorry to me.” You snapped as you stormed away from the nursery door. You put your hand on Bucky shoulder and moved him back a step to look at the partially unrecognizable blonde in front of you. “You’re not welcome here.”

“My star…” She tried but you grabbed your gun from Bucky and cocked it harshly.

“No!” You shouted, which effectively woke your daughter up. “You stood there, Natasha. You just stood there when I needed you the most. You stood there and shook your head. You didn’t even try to defend the woman you supposedly loved as I was thrown from my home. I lost everything! My family, my security, my sanity. All of it was gone and Bucky was the only person that stood up to protect me. Steve did what he could but that wasn’t his responsibility; it was yours. And you- did- nothing!”

“(Y/N)…” She tried as tears fell from her eyes. You heard Bucky growl behind you as he turned to go to the nursery for Anastasia and you shook your head at your ex.

“No, Nat. I don’t want to hear it. Because even though I left, you still did nothing. Sure, you tried to hunt me down but, as you quickly realized, I won’t be found if I don’t wanna be. So that was a waste of time. Let me ask you this. Have you even bother to talk to Tony about me once? Did you try even one time to get him to see that I am not that monster anymore? Or did you just play victim because you choose to literally turn your back on your girlfriend and she was taken from your life like you promised would never happen? I don’t even need an answer from you because I already know it. You played the victim. I expected more from you Natalia. So much more. Especially after you fought so hard for Clint, who you have said you didn’t love as much as me, to get him back into your arms when Loki had him try to murder you.”

“Baby…”

“Go to hell, Natasha. I want nothing to do with you. Stay away from me, stay away from my family, stay the fuck away from Wakanda. Go do you, you heartless shrew because you sure as fuck aren’t doing me ever again.” Without another word, you slammed the front door closed and turned the locks as fast as your fingers would go. Once the alarm was reset, you set your gun down and followed your daughters screaming to the back bedroom.

“She gone?” Bucky snapped as he bounced Anastasia in his arms.

“She’s gone.” You said with a nod as you locked the secondary door in your room and sent out a silent thanks for Shuri making your house impenetrable once the alarm was set. “Come here, angel.” You carefully took Anastasia from Bucky and walked over to the bed with her while Bucky started to pace.

“How’d she even find us?” He asked angrily as he yanked off his work shirt and chucked it across the room toward the laundry hamper. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

“She’s gone, Bucky.” You said softly as you rubbed your daughter’s back and laid her out on your sports bra covered chest.

“She has no right.” He snapped as he continued to get undressed. “No right to just show up here like that.” You nodded in agreement as you tried to check Anastasia’s mouth again since she was awake. “Who does she think she is?”

“I don’t know, baby.” You said evenly as you forced yourself to keep your anger at bay and you absolutely felt one of her teeth near the surface of Anastasia’s bottom gums. “She’s teething.” Bucky glanced over at you and did a double take as your daughter grabbed your hand almost to hold the soothing metal in place. He climbed on the bed slowly as Anastasia’s crying turned into hiccups.

“Oh, baby girl.” He said sadly as he leaned against the headboard so that he was right in front of her. “You’re OK, sweetheart.” She hiccuped again as he reached up to brush his hand over the back of her head.

“We’re in for a world of fun.” You said softly as she started to chew on your finger. He nodded as her eyes started to slowly drift closed again.

“We’ll figure it out.” He said as he helped get the pair of you under the blankets. “We always do.” You nodded in agreement as he kissed Anastasia’s forehead and laid back against his pillow.

“Think she’ll tell Tony we’re here?” You asked as he grabbed the padded co-sleeper from under the bed.

“Probably.” He said as he laid the sleeper down between you knowing neither of you would sleep comfortably that night if she wasn’t in the room with you. “We’re safe here, though. Tony can’t get into Wakanda without T’Challa knowing about it anyways…”

“Nat did.” You said as you brushed your fingertips down Anastasia’s back so she would fall back to sleep.

“Yea, well now we’re prepared.” He said a little harshly.

“OK.” You said as you looked over at him. “OK…”

“Sorry, baby.” He said as he ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “She just… she makes me so mad.”

“I know, baby.” You agreed as you carefully pulled your hand back and laid your daughter down in her sleeper. “But we’re better than her now, right? We’re parents now. We can’t stoop down to her level.”

“Yea.” He said with small smile as he laid down next to the other little lady that stole his heart. “Yea, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, James.” You giggled as you got up to wash your face and get ready for bed. “That’s why you married me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the night Natasha showed up, you started to live in fear. Every time you stepped outside with Anastasia, you carried an unnecessary amounts of weapons on your person and constantly kept your head on a swivel. After two weeks of jumping at every little thing, the Wolf came back and began to taunt the safety of you and more specifically, your baby girl. And at that point, you locked yourself and Anastasia in your apartment and had your weekly groceries delivered by a teenage boy that lived in your building.

Bucky wanted to protest your seclusion but he was equally as scared for the two loves of his life. He convinced you once about a month after Nat showed up to leave the house just to head up to a restaurant on the corner. He barely made it long enough to order the food to go and rush you back home with a mild case of whiplash. He knew you were at least safe in your home, so after that failed attempt to be social, he looked the other way about you staying home all the time.

Anastasia was growing like a weed. One day she was needing help to sit up on your lap or on the floor and the next thing you knew, she was seven months old, crawling across the wood floors as fast as her chubby arms and legs could carry her, and practicing her standing as long as you held on to her sides. You were beyond ecstatic that her first word was ‘mama’, which Bucky wasn’t a huge fan of, but she didn’t disappoint for long because ‘dada’ came about a week later followed by ‘ba.’ And thus began the part of her life where she would follow you around after you while you cleaned, babbling ‘mama dada’ for hours over the sounds of her knees and palms clomping on the floors.

“She does this all day?” Bucky asked as he helped put away the lunch leftovers on one of his Tuesdays off. You smirked and nodded as you wiped down your kitchen counters while Anastasia sat right next to your legs on the floor repeating your name with the occasional ‘dada’ mixed in as she chewed on a frozen strawberry in a mesh pacifier.

“Every day. We’re getting a lot better at separating our names though.” He laughed as he walked over and looked down at her with his hands on his hips.

“What are you doing?” He said playfully as she looked up at him with a smile.

“Ma dada… da mama!” She said as she reached for him with one arm, not willing to pull the fruit pacifier from her mouth.

“That’s progress.” You laughed as Bucky picked her up and tossed her in the air a couple inches.

“I still can’t believe she’s ours.” He said as walked over and sat down on the couch with her. “I also can’t believe how fast she’s grown.”

“I know.” You sighed with a nod as you hung your rag over the middle of the sinks. “I just want it to stop already. Make her stay cute forever.”

“Yea, because both of us wanna change diapers for the rest of eternity.” He laughed as you flopped down on the couch for a break before you went back to doing laundry. You rested your elbow on the armrest and propped your head on your fist as you watched your daughter ‘walk’ up Bucky’s thighs and stomach while she continued to chew on her strawberry.

“We need to leave Wakanda.” You said softly. Your husband slowly nodded his head in agreement.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Tears welled in your eyes as the pair of you just watched your daughter with more love than either of you knew was possible. She walked her way up his chest so that her little feet were on his face and squealed in joy when he playfully pretended to eat her toes.

“Where should we go?” You whispered, not trusting your voice any louder.

“We can stay in Africa for a while.” He suggested with a glance over at you as he held his daughter over his thighs again. “Head south until we hit the end of the continent then try to catch a ride over to Asia. Head toward Australia. We’ll just keep moving.” You nodded your head and looked over at him as a few tears fell from your eyes. “We’re gunna be OK, baby girl. We know how to survive on the run. And we’ll just be more hyper-vigilant with Anastasia.”

“OK.” You whispered as you pushed across the couch to rest your head on his shoulder. “I’ll call up to Okoye and we’ll leave tonight?” He nodded his head as he turned to kiss the top of your head.

“We’ll pack as light as we can with her when she goes down for a nap. Get out after dark.” You nodded your head and sighed as you got up off the couch.

“I’ll get the laundry finished and make that call.” You heard him mumble ‘alright’ as he took the empty pacifier from Anastasia before she could throw it.

“Come on, pumpkin. Nap time.”

——

“Our clothes, her clothes, bottles, formula, baby food…” You said to yourself as you went through the two, overflowing backpack duffle bags on your bed. “… toys, bathroom bags, pacifiers, blankets.”

“We can strap this to your backpack.” Bucky said as he tossed the padded sleeper on the bed and grabbed the baby carrier from under the bed as well. “The play pen is a little too big to carry with us.”

“True.” You said as you grabbed the ball of twine and the sleeper off the bed. “Did you empty out every drawer on the changing table into the diaper bag?”

“And the extra stuff in the closet.” He said with a nod. “You got the new load of groceries in there?” You nodded your head as you checked the weight of both backpacks to make sure Bucky’s wasn’t too heavy.

“I think we should bring the stroller.” You said as you set his backpack aside, deeming it full enough. “I think we’ll regret it more if we don’t.”

“It’d make carrying the car seat easier. We could fill the bottom up with more stuff…”

“It would make carrying bottles of water easier.” You agreed. You grabbed the Ziplock bag of baby medicines, sunscreen, and other necessities for Anastasia and threw them in the last bit of space in your bag. “These are both done.” He nodded his head, acknowledging that he heard what you said as he pulled the old SIM cards from your cell phones and grabbed new ones and a pair of burner phones from your bedside table drawer. He pulled weapon after weapon from the drawer as you put everything from the room out in the hall.

“You gunna carry her first?” He asked as you came back in and started to load your old Winter Wolf cargo pants with guns and knives.

“Yea, I got her.” You said as you checked the gun you would keep on your hip to make sure it was fully loaded and the safety was on. You put it in your holder and made sure that it was far enough back that there was no way your daughter could reach it before grabbing the carrier off the bed. You followed Bucky out to the living room to load up anything else you could fit in the stroller; a case of water, some laundry soap you otherwise would have had to leave behind, and a few more of her favorite toys, and took one final look around your apartment for anything else you could possibly need.

“We have all the cash?” You asked as you headed toward the nursery to grab your daughter to leave.

“Yea, it’s all in the diaper bag.” He said as he put his backpack and the diaper bag on and grabbed the carseat to put in the front of the stroller. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you as you carefully picked your sleeping daughter up from her crib and put her in the baby carrier. You made sure to grab her bedtime blanket and her favorite stuffed bunny rabbit before heading out of the room to get your own backpack.

“You got everything?” He asked softly as he helped you put the backpack on so you didn’t jostle Anastasia too much.

“Anything we forgot, we can replace.” You responded as you tucked the blanket and bunny into the carseat. “Oh, grab the fold up booster seat.” You said as you pointed to the chair in the corner by the dinner table. You pushed the stroller to the door as he stuck the seat across the top and added the two bottles of water for you to the cup holders.

“Alright.” Bucky said as he looked back around your apartment while you shut off the alarm and unlocked the door. “Bye first house.” You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and look back at it as you pulled open the door.

“Let’s just go, baby.” You forced yourself not to tear up as you headed down the hall to the elevator.

“It’s alright, (Y/N).” Your husband said as he rubbed your shoulder with a small smile on his face. “We’re gunna be just fine. We can handle this.” You took a deep breath as the elevator opened on the ground floor and nodded.

“Yep. We’re…”

“Running away with a baby?” A voice asked from the shadows that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You whipped your gun out at lighting speed and turned around as Tony stepped out of the shadows. “Do you really think that’s the best parenting choice there.”

“Back up.” Bucky growled as he moved between you and Tony with his gun pointed at the man as well. “Baby, go.”

“No, no.” Tony said as he took a step closer with his hands raised. He instantly took two steps back as both you and Bucky cocked your guns and flipped off the safeties. “Look, I know you’re both a little jaded here…”

“A little?” You asked as your eyes darted around the street; catching Steve and Wanda hiding in the shadows in the alley across from you, Vision a block behind you behind a car, Clint on the roof across from you… and Natasha peeking out from the alley behind Tony.

“Wonder why…” Bucky growled.

“Yea, you have the right to be mad. I was an asshole. Plain and simple. But I was wrong. And I’m man enough to admit that. So if you wanna hide out, go ahead. You wanna raise your kid in fear here in Wakanda… yea, I know everything.” Tony said as you shared a side eyed glance with Bucky. “You wanna stay here, go ahead. T’Challa said that was fine by him. You wanna come back to the towers and feel safe, you can do that, too.” You forced yourself to keep your face unreadable as you searched Tony’s eyes.

“I’ll stay away.” Natasha said softly. “I won’t come near any of you. Just please. Please come home where you belong.”

“She’d be safe.” Bucky whispered in Xhosa without taking his eyes off Tony or Natasha as you watched the other Avengers. “Both of you.”

“Is it worth dealing with the other half of the problem?” You asked with a side look over at him.

“We’d be safe.” He repeated. “And we wouldn’t have to keep running.” You sighed, knowing that he was right and that dealing with Natasha was worth guaranteeing that the voices didn’t come back and that Anastasia would be safe forever.

“Come on, guys.” Steve called out as he took a few steps forward. “Do it for my niece.” You looked over at Bucky, who you knew wanted to go home and not have to work every day even if he wouldn’t admit it, and sighed.

“Fine.” You breathed as you flipped on the safety and ejected the bullet in the chamber of your gun. You could hear the subtle sigh of relief from your husband as he put his gun up while the other members of the team all stood down.

“You stay away from them.” Bucky growled as he pointed at Natasha and put the diaper bag on the stroller. She nodded and took a few steps back as Steve came over to say hi to Anastasia.

“I’m guessing you still have stuff upstairs?” He asked as he brushed his fingers over the top of her head.

“We packed as light as possible so yea.” You said with a nod.

“Alright then. Steve, get them to the jet. We’ll get the rest…”

“I’ll go up with you.” Bucky said as he pulled off his backpack and passed it to Steve. “We can just pile everything that’s left in the crib.”

“Leave the furniture and the dishes behind and put a note on the woman across the hall’s door that she can help herself to whatever is left over as a thanks for her son getting our groceries.” You told him as Steve took off your backpack for you. He nodded his head and headed back toward your apartment building as Steve put his hand on your back.

“Let’s go home, (Y/N).” He said with a smile as he lead you behind Natasha to the quinjet that was parked on the palace jet pad.

“I just hope it’s not the worst decision we’ve ever made.” You muttered as you stared daggers into Natasha’s back.

Part 13

#Bucky x Reader #Winter Wolf #marvelfluffbingo #Winter Wolf Series #Bucky Barnes x Reader

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halfdeadfriedrice · 4 years ago

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book asks: 4, 12, 17!

:D :D :D thanks for asking! This is for the End-of-Year Book Ask

(but actually 4) Did you discover any new authors that you love this year? I really liked A.K. Larkwood’s debut, The Unspoken Name, and will be eagerly following her career. I also read Caitlin Doughty’s nonfiction for the first time, which I liked. I mentioned both of these in the last post; let me see if I can find someone else. oh! I quite liked Tasha Suri’s “Empire of Sand,” and the sequel is on my list; I’ll definitely be checking out future offerings there.

(actually 12) Any books that disappointed you? I was going to say something equivocating because I don’t like doing negative reviews of books but! This isn’t goodreads. I read “The False Prince” and “The Runaway King” by Nielsen; I liked The False Prince well enough, as a sort of Anastasia-esque story! I’m a sucker for those conman boarding school kinda things. It was the sequel that disappointed me, because our newly-instated King runs away to go subvert the King of the Pirates (!!!!) but the oomph is not in it. (Also the story had less direction and made less political sense - it suffered from being read near Turner’s The Thief series, which is smarter and more fun.)

(actually 17, again!) Did any books surprise you with how good they were? Since last time I said I’d only look at new authors, this time I will indulge myself - I’m surprised only in the that the depth of my love for these books is surprising and welcome - I Loved Harrow the Ninth, I Continue to Love Gideon the Ninth, both of which continue to hold up magnificently with fresh mystery as I reread them in anticipation of someday reading Alecto the Ninth. The mystery continues both because I am only functioning at about 40% memory retention during 2020 and because there’s so many delicious pieces of the web that are set to be plucked in the final book. They just- they are doing things that other books aren’t, and they’re doing them so damn well! The flippancy of genre! The memes! The funny-thoughtful-emotionally raw treatment of each character and their wounds! It’s like Carrie Fisher and Agatha Christie and gothic majesty and SPAAAACE! Also! I read a bunch of Ursula Vernon’s children’s books, and they don’t have to go as hard as they do, but they are magical and wonderful little journeys. Especial shoutout to Nurk, a little shrew who would prefer to stay home but is going to rescue a dragon prince anyway.

#onlybluetalk #half dead fried chattering #half dead fried life #books books books

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blowmiakisscolin · 7 years ago

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Could you tell your headcanons about Will Scarlet?

Oh, nonnie. I just…I have so many!! I have the biggest soft spot for that adorable little nugget. And I know I’m gonna end up adding to this as I think of new ones. But here goes.

1) Emma and Will became reluctant friends (more like big sister taking annoying little brother under her wing really), much to Killian’s initial dismay. He followed her around like a little puppy dog until eventually she got so fed up that she started giving him ‘chores’ that eased her workload at the station and paying him 'pocket money’ in return. He’s been unofficially employed as admin/janitor/typist/stockkeeper there ever since.

2) Eventually, Killian and Will became buddies too and bonded one evening when Will decided to invite himself along to Killian and David’s “Guys’ Night”. They all got very drunk of colorful cocktails and caused a ruckus but had a whole lot of fun. After that, they no longer hated each other and Will had an unspoken invitation to Guys’ Night every month.

3) Will and Lily hooked up one night after Guys’ Night and they’ve been unofficially dating since then, though neither of them will ever admit to it. They practically live together but they still won’t use the term 'dating’.

4) Will is actually brilliant with kids (Emma snarks that it’s because they have the same mental age), so Snow talked him into helping her with the town’s bi-weekly Mommy & Me group. He’s also the go-to babysitter of Storybrooke alongside Granny.

I’m no doubt gonna add more to this list as I remember them, because I’ve had so many Will headcanons over the years. Will was so underappreciated and under-utilized on the main show, and I’m forever bitter that they never bothered to explain what the hell happened to Anastasia or why he’d been separated from his confirmed True Love (other than that he was a plot device they didn’t actually give a shit about 😤).

#will scarlet #Michael Socha #my lovable northern nugget #what a waste of a great character and fantastic actor #Mia answers asks

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pocket-anon · 7 years ago

Text

The Long Way Home (4/10)

On to Chapter 4! I'm so pleased that so many of you seem to be enjoying this story, and I deeply appreciate the time you've taken to reblog it, leave comments, and tell your friends about it! This really isn't half the fun without you. Hugs.

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback. Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3. Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut. Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

Steel whispers as Emma pulls a cutlass from a rack of swords in the Jolly’s armory and draws it from the scabbard to examine it with a narrowed eye aimed down the edge of the blade.

Hook watches her with amusement, leaned against one wall with his arms and legs crossed. She’s wearing her hair up for the first time today, woven with a few thick braids and pulled back into a ponytail that’s already been touched by humidity and the morning breeze, and there’s something very wild and pretty about it. “I assure you they’re all good swords, Swan,” he promises. “I select them myself.”

“Who says I’m not more discerning than you?” she quips, the corner of her lips pulling upward until one of her dimples appears. She meets his incredulous grin with a chuckle. “Kidding.”

He laughs richly. Glorious creature.

She moves on to a different, slightly more slender sword and looks it over before rotating it with a few turns of her wrist, the blade arcing gracefully through the air. Emma hums with satisfaction, admiring the clean lines of the wire-wrapped grip. “I like this one.”

Hook nods. “Very well.”

The blade hisses back into its sheath, and she flashes him an appreciative smile as he hands over a spare sword belt. Standing back, he watches her thread the belt through the scabbard’s leather suspension and loop it around her waist. Emma experiments with the best angle at which to let the sword hang for a minute before electing to just cinch the buckle snug to her middle. The belt is overlong, but it only takes her a moment to formulate a solution, tying the remaining length off so that it hangs neatly downward and then pulling her hands back so she can survey her work. “Does that look right?”

He hums the affirmative as she practices yanking the cutlass from the scabbard, the easy rhythm with which she slides the blade out and back home again making it seem as if she were old hand at this. “It suits you, lass.” He scratches behind his ear. “As does your hair,” he adds shyly.

Emma blushes. “Thanks.” She fingers a golden lock over the back of her ear. “It, uh, it beats pushing it out of my eyes every other minute.”

He rumbles his agreement. “Indeed.”

Her eyes glint, and she grins, turning her attention back to her new sword. A thoughtful look crosses her face, and she chews on her lip.

Hook eyes her knowingly. “What is it, Swan?”

Her gaze turns hopeful. “Do you have a spare a knife or a dagger? Something small for my boot?”

His face brightens, and he cackles with approval. “Now you’re thinking like a pirate.” He pulls open a locker and retrieves a bound leather bundle, which he unties and lays open across the nearest bench to reveal a dozen smaller blades in various styles. He gestures. “Lady’s choice.”

Emma comes to his side and studies the collection. She selects the slightest of them, a simple blade with an unadorned grip and no guard, and pulls it from the sheath, testing the weight and giving it a simple flip. “Thanks,” she says, slipping the blade back into the sheath and bending down to tuck it into her boot.

“You’re very welcome.” Hook grins with admiration. He proceeds to bind up the remaining daggers and put them away. “And now that you’re armed, we must be sure that you can wield that cutlass properly,” he says, pointing to her scabbard. “It’s no longsword. Come.”

He leads her above, throwing his crewmen cool looks of warning to behave as they make their way starboard, the shadow from the main-mast providing them some shelter from the late morning sun. He takes the time to review the basics, making adjustments to her grip and stance and running her through a few principal cuts to let her familiarize herself with the weight of her new blade and its greater maneuverability compared to what she seems used to.

Emma proves herself to be an apt pupil despite having to take her lessons under the observation of seasoned pirates. Her bearing is indeed noble as she forces her eyes away from them and focuses on her weapon and his words, and her face is so set with concentration he’s left with little doubt that he can turn her into a good swordsman.

By midday, he’s completed his introduction, and he squints in the overhead sun. “Feel up to a quick spar before lunch, Swan?”

Indecision flashes briefly over her face as she glances at her cutlass and then at men scattered around them, most of whom are doing a poor job of pretending they aren’t watching, but, true to form, the decision not to back down takes hold and she straightens and tosses her head, planting her free hand on her hip defiantly.. “If you want.”

Hook smiles and positions himself across from her. “Aye. Let’s see what you’ve learned, shall we?” They stare at each other for a moment, swords at the ready, and though they both know she’s no match for him, her eyes shine with a determination to try to best him that sends a thrill through his chest nonetheless. He licks his lips with anticipation. “Begin.”

Work around the ship halts as the clash of steel grants the crew unspoken permission to give up their ruse and gather round. There are the expected cheers for the Captain, but he also hears a few calls of encouragement for the Lady Swan, and he hums as he parries Emma’s eighth strike. “Seems you have some admirers, love.”

Her beautifully flushed cheeks turn even rosier. “Yeah,” she pants, grunting as their blades slice against each other again and they both spring back.

“Can’t say I blame them,” he adds with a devilish grin. The tip of his sword traces a few lazy circles in the air, his steps mirroring hers as they circle. “You are a far sight prettier than I.”

This earns him a little chuckle, and she feints high and slashes low, forcing him to jump back a few inches.

A ripple of excited cheers and jeers erupt from the men, and Hook crows. “Excellent!”

He begins a light offensive, jabbing mainly toward her sides to give her a chance to practice deflecting, and when she appears to have gotten the hang of that, he follows up with a quick spin ending in a more aggressive slash. She reverts to a two-handed grip to block it and proceeds to keep both hands on the hilt as she tries to return the assault.

Hook tuts. “Drop your other hand, Swan. It’s not a longsword.”

She colors a little and complies. A minute later, however, she falls back to her old ways.

“The hand, Swan,” he says patiently.

Emma corrects herself again, looking chagrined as she whips her blade around for another strike. She grunts when he blocks her blow, the steel clanging hard. “Sorry.”

They exchange a few more attacks before he finally deigns to end it, pressing her sword off to the side and twisting his blade around to force her to lose her grip. Emma yelps indignantly as her cutlass clatters to the deck, but the men cheer, and she shakes her head and gives him a conciliatory grin. “One of these days, you’re going to show me how to do that.”

Hook chuckles, sheathing his sword and reaching down retrieve hers. “I suppose I could be persuaded.” He offers the hilt up to her in gentlemanly fashion, a smirk playing on his lips. “Very good, love. Excellent progress today. But keep your other hand in check,” he teases, arching a brow and gesturing toward her left arm, “or I may have to tie it behind your back.”

“Hmm.” Emma narrows her eyes at him knowingly. “No doubt something you would enjoy,” she comments, her face still glowing as she accepts her weapon and puts it away.

He laughs and gives her a wink as his men disperse. “No doubt.” He motions for her to lead the way toward his quarters. “Lunch?”

* * *

As apprehensive as Swan was about it, having the rest of the crew witness her sword fighting lesson with their Captain seems to go a long way toward earning their respect, and she notices that the men become more open to letting her observe them at their duties, even engaging her and indulging her questions as she learns more about the ship with each passing day.

She’s standing at the base of the main-mast and peering skyward one morning when Thomas swings down from the rigging to land beside her.

“Help you, milady?”

Swan bites her lip, studying the complicated network of ropes that extend in various directions overhead. “What’s it like up there?”

He laughs. “Depends on how you feel about heights, I s’pose. Made my heart race the first hundred times I went up there and still does when the weather’s foul.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But the view from the top on a clear day? Aye, it’s hard to beat.”

Her eyes trail along the thick lines of the shroud which arches above them. “Can I go up?”

“Oh.” Thomas blinks, surprised. “Well, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t know if that’s wise. Cap’n says our top priority is to keep you safe,” he replies apologetically.

She rolls her eyes, remembering the royal reward money, and cranes her head up again wistfully. “Well, what if I just go up there?” she asks, pointing to the main yard. “I don’t have to climb to the very top. I just want to see what it’s like.” She glances sideways at him with a hopeful expression. “Please?”

The poor lad looks conflicted. “I…” His eyes dart helplessly to Roberts, who approaches from the bow. “Sir? The Lady would like to climb the mast.”

The older pirate’s step slows, lines of disapproval and confusion creasing his face. “What on earth for?” he demands. “…Ma’am.”

“Just getting to know the ship, Mr. Roberts,” Swan explains. “The Captain’s encouraged me to learn a little about sailing while I’m here, and this can’t be any riskier than sparring with him,” she reasons, glancing back up at the yard.

Roberts makes a dubious sound low in his throat. “All due respect, milady, but the Captain’s an expert swordsman who knows how to spar without hurting you.”

“And you’re an expert sailor,” she counters sweetly. “I’m sure you can find a safe way for me to climb the rigging. Every member of this crew had a first time, didn’t they?”

He huffs, running a hand down his face. “The rigging’s no place for a Lady.”

She chuckles dryly. “Yes, well, I’m already on a pirate ship, sir. I'm pretty sure we’re past the point of arguing where I do and don’t belong.” She fixes him with one last long look of entreaty, and her chest swells with triumph as she watches the last of the man’s resolve finally bleed away.

His shoulders slump with a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he grits. “But you’ll wear a tether or else the Captain’ll have my head.”

Swan beams. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts.”

Roberts grumbles. “Get up there and get a line around the yard for ‘er,” he growls at Thomas. “Be quick about it.”

Thomas gulps and scrambles away.

* * *

Hook emerges on deck for his morning inspection, squinting into the easterly sun and breathing the temperate air.

“’Morning, sir.” Smee greets him with a nervous half-bow of his head.

His first mate’s tone is an immediate red flag, and Hook aims a questioning glance over his shoulder. “What’s the problem, Smee?”

“Um, no problem, Captain.”

He raises an eyebrow before looking around for signs of Emma. “Where’s the Lady this morning?” he asks. “Still below?”

“Uh... n-no.”

Hook turns his head curiously to see Smee wearing an anxious expression and pointing. His eyes travel upward, growing round when he glimpses the telltale green skirts and blonde ponytail whipping on the wind high above them. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. His forehead furrows, and he bellows indignantly. “Swan?!”

Perched atop the main yard and hugging the mast with one arm while she looks aft, Emma’s face comes into view as she leans forward a bit and flashes him a breathless smile. “Hi!” she calls back.

He backs up a few paces in order to see her better, mouth agape. “What the devil are you doing up there?”

She laughs, her face shining. “Flying.”

“Fly—” He clamps his mouth shut and charges forward, veritably leaping down the ladder to the middle deck. His frustrated glare lands on Roberts and a contrite-looking Thomas, who stand watching her at the foot of the port shroud. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, Captain.” Roberts holds his palms up to mollify him. “She said you wanted ‘er to learn something of sailing and fairly begged to be allowed up, so we tied a tether to ‘er and I let Thomas show ‘er a bit about managing the sails. We’re just letting ‘er enjoy the view a while longer ‘fore she comes back down.”

Hook blinks at him and Thomas dumbly, the quartermaster’s words taking the sting out of his displeasure, and the anger fades from his expression as he glances upward again.

“For what it’s worth, she seems right at home up in the rigging,” Roberts notes with a rare gleam in his eye. “Never would’ve guessed it, but the girl can climb.”

“I’ll fetch her down, Cap’n,” Thomas offers hastily.

Hook huffs and waves the younger crewman off. “No, lad. I’ll do it. Back to your duties.” He reaches for the shroud and swings himself up easily as Thomas looks relieved and scuttles away.

“Will you be needing anything then?” Roberts asks, risking the barest of knowing grins.

Hook shakes his head. “Never thought you’d be the first to fall for her charms, Old Man,” he chides, narrowing his eyes.

Roberts snorts. “Fairly sure I wasn’t,” he shoots back, his expression turning droll. He clears his throat with a shrug. “She’ll do well enough. She’s got guts, I’ll give ‘er that.”

Hook concedes with a hum, trying to ignore the little surge of pride in his chest as he begins his ascent.

Emma is looking down at him with amusement when he draws near. “Coming to check on me?” she teases.

“Coming to make sure you don’t break your pretty neck,” he retorts, affecting a scowl. He pulls himself up onto the yard beside her, taking half a second to ensure a steady footing and a good grip on one of the lines.

She smiles, seeing through his feigned gruffness. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. In their defense, your men did insist on taking good care of me.” She pulls one hand away from the mast to pluck at the improvised rope harness that girds her torso.

He huffs. “As well they should.” He relishes the way the morning sun plays upon her face, even as he forces his features to remain stern. “You are not to come up here without supervision. Understand?”

She nods agreeably. “It was trickier getting up here in a petticoat than I thought it would be,” she admits, wrinkling her nose. “And not just because I have to worry about being exposed by every stiff breeze.” Her cheeks turn crimson, and she smoothes the fabric down over her backside self-consciously.

Hook forgets his pretense and breaks out in a deep laugh, quite certain his men below would be more than happy to see a gale blow her skirt aloft. “Aye. Lovely as you might be in that dress, it may not be the most practical choice for climbing about.” He juts his lower lip out thoughtfully. “We’ll make port in about a week to shore up supplies. Perhaps you could find something else to wear that would be better suited,” he muses.

Emma chuckles. “No, it’s alright. I’ll make do. I don’t have any money anyway.”

“Consider it a gift then.”

She blinks over at him with big eyes before her expression softens and she shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Aye,” he concurs cheerfully, “but there’s no bringing out the sailor in you without the proper clothes, Swan.”

She looks conflicted for a moment, but at last she gives a grateful nod. “It would be nice not to have to wear a corset,” she supposes, grimacing and arching her back slightly.

The motion causes Hook’s pulse to quicken as he eyes her gorgeous curves in profile. He swallows and plasters on a cheeky grin. “Then again, perhaps I should rescind the offer.”

She rolls her eyes and straightens, her cheeks flushing again, but he doesn’t miss the tiny, smug smile that hints at the corner of her mouth.

He chuckles. “Very well, darling. As you like.”

“Hmph.” Emma gives him a reproving side-eye before turning her gaze back out over the southern horizon. They stand there enjoying the view for a few long minutes, surrounded by the sound of the wind buffeting the sails and the soft groans of the ship. From somewhere below, the distant voices of some crewmen singing a shanty also rises to meet their ears.

“So what do you think of it?” he asks, watching a loose tendril of her hair curl backward over her brow.

She inhales the salty air contentedly. “It’s amazing,” she murmurs. “I’m starting to understand the appeal of a life at sea.”

Hook smiles, eyeing the endless blue expanse. “Aye. The ocean’s an unpredictable mistress sometimes, but there’s nothing like standing on the deck of your own ship and knowing that she can take you almost anywhere. Where else can you see so much of the world without ever leaving home?” He taps his hook against the mast.

“How long have you lived on the water?”

“Nearly all my life,” he replies. “Since I was a lad. I was ten when my brother and I boarded our first ship.”

“Ten?” Her mouth falls open. “And you never returned to live on land?”

He looks away. “No.” He hesitates when she waits for him to continue. “We… we were traveling with our father. He disappeared one night,” he explains quietly, steeling himself against his emotions and choosing the words carefully. “Left us in the service of the ship’s captain.”

Emma squints, looking horrified. “He left you,” she repeats.

A cheerless smile ghosts over his lips. “Aye. Turns out he was a thief fleeing capture. He went off the ship in a dinghy shortly after putting me to bed, I’m told. We never saw him again.”

He doesn’t have to see her face to feel the quiet sadness that settles over her. “And your mother?” she murmurs, clearly braced for another unpleasant revelation.

Hook dares to meet her gaze again, his expression becoming more drawn. “Died the year before. She’d been sick a long time. One day she fainted. Liam and I waited and waited for her to wake up. She never did.” He glances briefly at Emma’s now heartbroken face before redirecting his eyes to the tail end of their wake, staring numbly as it’s swallowed by the passing waves.

“You’ve lost so many people,” she observes softly.

“It was a hundred and fifty years ago, Swan.”

“Does that make it easier?”

He sucks in a breath, deciding whether to acknowledge what she seems to know already, and bows his head. “No.” He chuffs. “Wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger.” Hook lifts his chin again and glowers out toward the waves.

Emma angles her head. “How have you lived so long, exactly?”

He hums, grateful for the change of topic, and his shoulders relax a hair. “I spent a very long time in Neverland,” he says simply. “The magic of the island makes it impossible to age there.”

Her brow wrinkles. “You went back to Neverland? Even after what happened with your brother?”

He nods.

“Why?”

He feels her eyes on him as he contemplates the most benign way he can describe the wrath and overwhelming desire for vengeance that fueled his decision to return to that accursed place. “I needed information,” he answers, trying to sound nonchalant.

She arcs an eyebrow. “You spent over a hundred years looking for information?”

Hook shifts restlessly. “I spent over a hundred years in the reluctant employ of Peter Pan, who rules the island. He was, shall we say, disinclined to let us leave.”

Emma frowns prettily as she considers this, a dozen questions writing themselves on her face. “What kind of information were you looking for?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “The way to kill the demon who took my hand.” His eyes dart away, and he swallows tightly, unsure why, for the first time, he feels less than comfortable telling someone about his quest to destroy the Dark One. For decades it’s been integral to his identity, as much a part of him as his hook, but now… now something about revealing himself to her as a man hell-bent on revenge makes him feel less than proud of who he is.

Silence falls between them, and he wonders whether he’s lowered her estimation of him. Not that it should matter, he reminds himself hastily, sneaking a glance at the unreadable expression on her face as she, too, stares wordlessly out over the ocean.

At last she clears her throat. “So, did you get the information you needed?” Her head rotates back toward him.

Hook nods soberly, a knot forming in his stomach at the bitter memory of learning about the Dark One’s dagger – the only weapon capable of killing its malevolent owner – from Milah’s son, Baelfire, during their ill-fated encounter in Neverland.

“Have you had the chance to act on it?” she asks softly.

His gaze remains fixed on the water. “Not yet.”

Emma bobs her head slowly and licks her lips. “And what will you do after it’s done?”

A wrinkle appears between his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admits.

She opens her mouth but falters, as if debating whether to say something. “Maybe…” she starts, “if you find yourself back in the north… you could come say hello to a friend.”

He blinks, his heart leaping in his chest as she glances back at him with a solemn smile. Friend. “Aye,” he agrees, flushing with pleasure and enjoying the hint of color that rises in her cheeks as he grins back at her. “I’d like that.”

* * *

“Come on, Swan. Let’s get a look.” Hook’s voice is slightly dampened by the curtain covering the doorway of the clothier’s dressing room.

A week has passed since Emma’s first climb up to the yard, and the, true to his word, Hook has put finding a more suitable set of clothes for her on the agenda for their two-night stop in this, the largest port in the Southern Isles. And thus she finds herself in the back of this shop, half-naked, with him but a stone’s throw away.

Swan huffs as she appreciates the lightweight cotton shirt in her hands, the fabric covered in matching white embroidery that gives it a lacy, feminine quality. “As many years as you’ve been alive,” she admonishes, slipping it on and beginning to do up the buttons leading up to the V-shaped neckline, “you’d think you’d have learned how to wait by now.”

Her ears catch his chuckle. “You need a hand, love?”

She smirks to herself. “Is that a joke?”

“No, I’m quite serious,” he calls back airily. “I’m rather good with fastenings.”

It’s her turn to laugh. “I’m sure you are.” Swan finishes buttoning the shirt and sweeps her ponytail free of the collar before examining her reflection in the clothier’s mirror. She smoothes the hem of the shirt down over her hips, turning this way and that to survey her appearance. Her eyes fall to the dark blue leather trousers the clothier had chosen for her. She may have had to suffer the mild indignity of being eyeballed and prodded and measured by the excitable wisp of a man while Hook looked on with a beguiled grin, but the result was definitely worth it, she thinks with a quirk of her lips. The trousers fit like a second skin, and while they’ll take a little getting used to, she has to admit that she loves the look of them as much as she loves the idea of no longer having her movement hindered by the voluminous fabric of a skirt.

Satisfied with her appearance, she reaches for the most indulgent piece of the ensemble – the thick cobalt jerkin with a high collar that the clothier had enthusiastically offered to go with the trousers. She’d expressed reservations about the cost, but Hook had simply rolled his eyes and stepped forward, transferring the jerkin from the other man’s hands to hers and nudging her toward the dressing room.

“Believe me, you’ll be glad for something like this when we travel farther north,” he’d said. “Go.”

Now that she wraps herself in the snug, buttery soft leather and links up the tiny, leaf-shaped clasps that run down one side, she can’t help but let her smile grow. It’s perfect.

Swan tries to mute her pleased expression when she pulls aside the curtain and steps back out into the shop, her old clothes and shoes sandwiched between her hands and the soles of her new knee-high boots thumping quietly across the stone floor.

Hook turns away from inspecting a dark red waistcoat and his jaw slackens at the sight of her, an appreciative sound sneaking past his parted lips. “Now that’s much better,” he rumbles, his wide eyes sweeping up and down.

“You like it?” she asks coyly, giving the clothier a grateful smile when he beckons for her to hand him her old things in exchange for a pair of elbow-length leather gloves.

Hook’s face brightens with a slightly awed smile. “You look stunning, Swan.”

Warmth creeps across her cheeks, and she allows herself to preen a little, experimentally wiggling her fingers as she finishes tugging the first glove on. “And here I thought you’d miss the corset.”

“Well, that does have its own charms,” he chuckles, scratching behind his ear, “but I’d say this is a better fit for a woman who wields a sword and climbs the rigging.” He ducks his head a little. “Besides, you’d be lovely in anything.” His words leave her heart fluttering, and his grin widens. He pulls out a purse heavy with coin and turns to the clothier. “She’ll have all of it.”

They leave the shop behind a short while later, the paper-wrapped parcel containing Swan’s old clothes swinging on its twine from the Captain’s hook. The sun shines, and the call of voices and the squawking of caged chickens greet them as they wander up the small side street and emerge back onto the port’s main thoroughfare.

“So now what?” she asks.

He hums. “Normally I’d begin negotiating for new supplies,” he replies. “But if you’d prefer I show you the town, I can leave the task to Roberts. It’s usually a quartermaster’s job, anyway.”

“So why do you do it?” Swan looks up at him, puzzled.

Hook’s eyes twinkle. “Because I find merchants to be much more honest when they’re faced with this,” he says, lifting his hook, parcel and all. He smiles mischievously, and she laughs. “Most just want to make a decent profit, but there are always a few swindlers who need a little… inspiration.”

Swan nods, remembering the way her skin had crawled when a vintner had once tried to sell Maggie a case of wine for twice what it was worth. A thought occurs, and she tilts her head. “Could I come along?”

He arches a brow and gives her an amused sideways glance. “Desperate to stay close to me, love?”

Her eyes roll skyward. “Or I could go explore the town on my own.”

“No, no.” He grins and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, handing it over so she can see the purchase list written on it in his neat, flowing hand. “You’re quite welcome. Just remember that not even I can make talk of salt pork and pickled vegetables very interesting.”

She chuckles at his hubris while she peruses the sheet. “I’ll take my chances.”

The butcher that comes recommended to them has a very large shop and an excellent selection, but it becomes clear to Emma as she pretends to admire some hanging ham shanks and listens to him haggle with Hook over ten crates of cured meats that the burly, fast-talking man doesn’t have any qualms about charging whatever he wants, even after the Captain drops the pleasantries and pointedly sets his hook on the counter between them with a dull thunk.

Hook makes a dissatisfied noise in his chest as he eyes the new figure the butcher scribbles on a scrap of paper in lead pencil. “Thirty-two silver. That’s your best price?” he asks, his voice heavy with skepticism.

The man shrugs. “Afraid so, Captain.”

It’s hardly the truth. The telltale crawl of her skin makes Swan lick her lips. She rapidly considers her options for convincing the man to be more cooperative, briefly wishing she were still wearing something that left a little more cleavage on display. “Please?” she purrs, stepping forward to stand at Hook’s elbow and perching her fingertips on the counter. “You can afford to do a little better.” She looks the butcher straight in the eye. “I know you can.”

He blinks. “I… I really would love to, miss. But that has me barely breaking even as it is.”

Lie. She folds her lips in a tight smile. “That’s a shame. We can only spare twenty-six. Guess we’ll have to look elsewhere.” She slips her hands around the crook of Hook’s arm and gently pulls him toward the door. “Sorry to waste your time.”

“You’re not going to find a better price than that!” he protests.

Lie. Swan arcs an eyebrow over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know. I think we might.”

“Silly girl. Captain, please.” The butcher waves a doughy hand at Swan with frustration. “You and I understand business. Talk some sense into her.”

Much to her delight, Hook embraces her charade, canting his head to one side and allowing his eyes to flash murderously. “I’m sorry, did you just insult my Lady’s intelligence?” he snaps, whirling so fast she loses her grip on him. His hand finds the hilt of his cutlass. “You must have misspoken. Surely a smart man like you knows how unwise that would be.” He makes a show of stubbornly refusing to move even as Emma lays a hand on his shoulder and urges him to stand down.

The butcher glances at the sword and the blood drains from his face. He swallows hard. “Of… of course, Captain. My mistake, ma’am.”

Swan accepts his apologetic bow with a gracious nod, biting her tongue and doing her best to keep a straight face.

“Come, love,” Hook growls, giving the man another prize-winning glare before wrapping his hook arm around her back and reaching for the door knob. “If he won’t do twenty-six, he won’t do twenty-six.”

“I could do twenty-nine!”

They pause, shooting him identical dry expressions before daring to look at one another, and she can’t be sure whether the thrill she’s feeling right now comes from having the man right where they want him or from the way Hook’s eyes laugh and his arm tightens around her as they silently agree to continue out the door.

“Fine, then! Twenty-six, twenty-six…” the butcher grouses. He slaps a new slip of parchment on the counter. “Bleeding highway robbery,” he mutters, dashing off a purchase agreement.

Hook gives Swan the barest of winks and wanders back over to the counter, a little extra swagger in his step. “Take it from someone who knows, mate,” he says, snatching up the slip of paper between outstretched fingers. “If this were actual highway robbery, you’d be a lot worse for wear.”

* * *

“How did you know he’d do it?” Hook admires the purchase agreement one more time before tucking it into the breast pocket of his coat.

Emma allows herself a self-satisfied smile as they walk down the road together. “I just have a good feel for these things, I guess.”

“Perhaps I should make you the quartermaster.” He throws her a grin before checking their surroundings and nodding in the direction of the grocer.

Emma follows gamely. “And where would that leave Mr. Roberts?”

Hook snorts. “Knowing him, he’s got a secret fortune somewhere. He could take an early retirement or hire on a crew and find his own ship to captain,” he muses. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He savors Emma’s dimpled cheek and dancing eyes and invites her to go first as they wander beneath the shade of the grocer’s enormous tent. “Now, love, care to work your magic again?”

By day’s end, he and Emma manage to secure agreements for enough victuals and supplies to sustain the Jolly the rest of the voyage to Misthaven if need be. Hook mentally tallies the sums while they sit in a local tavern awaiting the arrival of their evening meal. He shakes his head in amazement. “Don’t look now, Swan, but I think we make quite the team,” he informs her jovially. “This is the least it’s cost us to outfit the ship in years.”

“What is?”

They look up to see Roberts, a fresh flagon in his hand, halted on his way to rejoin some of the men at another table a few feet away.

Hook gathers the little sheaf of purchase agreements and hands them over, looking smug.

The quartermaster sets his drink down and shuffles through the papers, his bushy eyebrows leaping upward. “I’ll be,” he drawls with a toothy grin. “Those’re some pretty numbers.”

“Turns out the Lady knows how to drive a hard bargain,” Hook explains, gesturing toward Emma with his own ale and beaming. “You should see her do it.” He catches her eye and smiles. “It’s a thing of beauty.”

Emma blushes hard, and Hook chuckles as Roberts hands the papers back.

“It’s very impressive, ma’am. You’ll have to tell us your secret.”

She lifts her cup up to her demure smile. “It’s nothing, Mr. Roberts,” she replies, taking a sip. “The Captain bought some things for me today, and I was just returning the favor.”

Roberts raises his flagon to her. “Well, my hat’s off to you. And…” The normally-gruff man eyes her new clothes and hesitates a moment, as if the words are awkward on his tongue. “You… you look very nice.”

Hook swivels his head toward his crewman in surprise, and Emma rewards Roberts with a brilliant smile before the quartermaster wanders off with his cheeks as ruddy as a schoolboy’s.

* * *

Foamy waves lap gently at the stretch of white sand that runs north of the docks, the entire landscape saturated in shades of indigo and dark blue beneath the light of an enormous full moon. The dull roar of the ocean mixes in their ears with the intermittent rush of the evening wind that whispers along the coast, and the warm air smells faintly of brine. Swan surveys the scene with a happy sigh as she and Hook elect to make a detour on their way back to the ship. Behind them, the town is dotted with the glimmering light of a hundred lanterns, and the sounds of late-night merriments grow fainter as they hike several hundred yards off the path to the beach. The ground softens beneath their feet, and Swan stops for a moment to bend over.

Hook turns to watch as she pulls off her new boots and hitches the legs of her trousers halfway up her calves. “What are you doing?” Even in the relative dark, the white of his amused grin is evident.

“Enjoying the sand,” she says simply, snatching up her boots and straightening. “You said the shores up north are rocky. Who knows when I’ll be someplace like this again?” She shrugs and flashes him a little smile as she resumes their course, relishing the way her bare feet sink ankle-deep in the cool, dry grains.

They stroll up to the water’s edge, their parallel lines of footprints growing more distinct in the damp terrain, and she sighs happily as the perfectly tepid sea washes over her feet with every lazy surge. Swan cranes her head upward to admire the stars which twinkle in the inky void beyond the moon’s halo. “Does the night sky look the same in all the realms?” she wonders aloud. She glances over to see Hook smile and nod.

“Aye. The constellations move with location and season, but yes, it’s the same stars in every place I’ve encountered. It’s what allows me to navigate no matter where I go.” His gaze sweeps the heavens, and he slows, turning about-face and pointing. “See those four bright ones there? The Southern Cross?” He traces the perpendicular lines in the air with his finger.

Swan steps closer, squinting to try and see what he sees. “There?” Her voice is uncertain as she shifts her boots to her left hand and points with her right.

Hook steps around to her right side and hunches down a bit, all but lowering his chin onto her shoulder to try to approximate her line of sight. He reaches for her outstretched hand, and her heart begins to beat erratically at the sensation of his breath on her cheek and the warmth of his palm around her wrist as he adjusts her angle. “There.” He slowly moves her arm in a similar crisscross pattern, pausing briefly on each individual point of light. “One, two, three, four,” he counts quietly in her ear. “See it?”

Her lashes flutter, and she manages to nod despite the sudden fullness in her throat and the gooseflesh that seems to have erupted across her back and arms.

“Now follow the long axis,” he coaxes, drawing her hand toward the horizon at a slight angle, “about four-and-a-half lengths down. That’s south.” He seems to catch himself and pulls away, clearing his throat. “Um, see? It’s simple.” He scratches behind his ear.

Her breath feels stilted, as though none of the air around them can find its way to her lungs. “Yeah,” she croaks, tucking a stray curl back away from her face and forcing a nervous little laugh. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Hook diverts his gaze almost shyly and looks toward the ocean as he turns to resume their walk. Something a few paces ahead catches his eye, and he strides forward to investigate, reaching down to pluck an object from ground. “Ah! Look at this,” he calls.

Swan trots to his side, watching curiously as he straightens, cradling a flat, round disc in his palm. “What is that?”

“A sand dollar.” His thumb swipes across the surface a few times to clear the thin layer of wet sand that clings to it, allowing her to see the pretty, flower-like imprint in the center and the odd pattern of slits that surround it. He motions for her to take it. “Some people think they’re good luck.”

She chuffs and accepts, admiring the hard, milky white artifact in the moonlight as she gently brushes the last of the beach off it. “Guess I can use all the luck I can get,” she says with a rueful smile.

He chuckles. “Somehow I get the feeling you make your own luck, Swan.”

“Right. Because waking up on the wrong side of the world with no memories was so lucky,” she shoots back wryly, tucking the sand dollar into her jerkin.

“Well, if you hadn’t, you might never have met me,” he points out, shrugging amiably. “I’d call that a stroke of luck, wouldn’t you?” He offers her his arm and an impish grin.

She can’t help but laugh, and she acknowledges his point with a bob of her head, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow and trying to ignore the pleasant quiver of her stomach as they turn to keep wandering. “I guess so.”

Thanks for reading! Ready for the next chapter? Click here!

#csbb #cs fic #captain swan #captain wench #cs ff #cs ef au #cs anastasia au #cs au #cs au ff #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #my writing #the long way home #captain duckling

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gaveherhearttotheliontattoo · 7 years ago

Text

Title: Once Upon A Dream - Chapter 4

Pairing: Swanfire

Word Count: 946

Warnings: None that I know of

Prompt: No prompt; Basically the movie Anastasia with characters from Once Upon A Time

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Neal sat across from Emma and glared at the dog next to him. "Oh, the mutt gets the window seat." He glanced up and watched Emma play with the chain around her neck. "Stop fiddling with that thing. Sit up straight. Remember, you're a princess."

Emma dropped the ring, crossed her arms over her chest. "How is it that you know what princesses do or don't do?"

"I make it my business to know."

Emma scoffed. "Oh."

"Look, Emma, I'm just trying to help, alright?"

"Neal?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Do you really think I'm royalty?"

Neal leaned forward his breath mixing with hers. "You know I do."

Emma moved even closer and ignored the butterflies flitting around her stomach. "Then stop bossing me around."

Neal stood up and straightened his jacket. "I'm going to find a drink."

August watched him leave and murmured under his breath, "She certainly has a mind of her own." He added another strike to the near twenty for Emma and laughed at Neal's measly three strikes.

Emma stared out the window at the passing trees. They were bare or snow covered. The setting sun bounced off the vibrant snow. The effect was tranquil making her feel like she'd never been lost in the first place, but then Pongo jumped onto her lap and she remembered where she was. Who she was. An orphan just trying to find her family.

Neal came back to find Emma petting that dog again. He rolled his eyes and sat down across from her again. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Emma contemplated, lifting her eyebrows as she looked at him. "I think we did, too."

"Okay."

"But I appreciate your apology."

"Apology?" Neal scoffed. "Who said anything about an apology? I was just saying-"

"Please, don't talk anymore, okay? It's only gonna upset me."

"Fine," Neal said, sitting back and crossing his arms. "I'll be quiet. If you will."

"Alright, I'll be quiet."

"Fine."

"Fine." Emma stared out the window again. She glanced over and nearly missed Neal's gaze leaving her. "Do you think you're going to miss it?"

"Miss what, you're talking?"

Emma opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. This man could infuriate a genie. "No! Arendelle."

"Nope."

"But it was your home."

Neal sighed. It had never been his home but it was the only place he could find refuge after, well, everything. "It was a place I once lived. End of story."

"Well, then you must plan on making the Enchanted Forest your true home."

Jesus, what happened to not talking? "What is it with you and homes?"

Emma moved to the edge of her seat. "Well, for one thing, it's something that every normal person wants. And for another thing, it's a thing where you-"

Neal moved closer, curious. "What?"

Emma flopped back. "You know—Forget it."

"Fine."

August, who had made his escape shortly after Neal, appeared in the doorway. He could hardly step in without feeling like he was barging in on something he shouldn't be. He tried to make a quick, quiet exit but Emma stopped him.

"Oh, thank goodness it's you. Just please remove him from my sight!"

"What have you done to her?

"Me?! It's her."

"Ha!" Emma curled up on to her bench seat.

August followed Neal into the narrow hallway. "Oh, no, an unspoken attraction."

"Attraction?! To that skinny little brat? Have you lost your mind?"

"I was only asking a simple question."

"Attraction!" Neal threw his hands in the air and stormed off. "Ridiculous."

August watched him go, a smile creeping over his face. A man in love could clearly see attraction between two young kids and there was definitely something there.

August burst into the room, startling Neal. "It's what I hate about this government. Everything's in red."

Neal stood up. "Red?"

August showed Neal the blue ticket. "I propose we move to the baggage car quickly before the guards come."

Neal shoved a suitcase in August's arms. "I propose we get off this train." He turned to Emma, shook her shoulder. "Hey."

Emma's hand connected with something hard making her sit up straight. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone… Oh, it's you. Well, that's okay, then."

Neal pulled Emma up. "Come on, we gotta go."

Emma pulled Pongo into her arms. "Where are we going?"

Neal pushed her into the hallway and towards the baggage car. He touched his nose. "You broke my nose!"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Men are such babies."

Neal clenched his teeth and kept moving towards the baggage car. Once there he dropped the suitcases and bags. "Ah, yes, this will do nicely."

August rubbed his arms and watched his breath swirl through the air in front of him. "She'll freeze in here."

"She can thaw in Paris."

Emma looked around and snuggled Pongo closer. "The baggage car?" She looked at all of the suitcases and found a crate to rest on. "There wouldn't be anything wrong with our papers, now would there, Maestro?"

"Of course not, Your Grace. It's just that – I hate to see you forced to mingle with all those commoners." Neal stumbled and reached for a crate to balance himself. "What was that?"

August watched the train fade. "I don't know, but there goes the dining car."

Neal moved towards the open doorway but a jolt had him falling, tripping over Emma.

"Get off me."

"I'm trying."

August looked through the front of the train car and saw the fire burning bright, probably brighter than it should be. "Uh, Neal?"

Neal had finally pushed himself up and walked towards August. "What?"

"I think someone has flambeed our engine."

#ouat #once upon a time #swanfire #daddy charming #swan thief

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voltron-fanfiction · 8 years ago

Text

Anastasia!Klance AU: Chapter 4

Read the Prologue here!

The train rolled out of St. Petersburg and began its trip through the Russian landscape. The four companions were all arranged comfortably. Hunk and Pidge were seated on one side; Hunk was currently forging their traveling papers in neat, blue ink. Pidge had the window seat and was staring out the side window at the passing countryside. Keith sat slumped across from Pidge and was gazing out the window blankly, fiddling with his ring. And finally Lance was standing, organizing their bags in the compartments above.

When he was done, he glanced to where Pidge was sitting. “I think you’re in my seat, short-stop.” With barely even a glance in his direction, Pidge shot back, “If you wanted this spot, then you should have sat here first.”

Hunk suppressed his chuckles with his fist and Lance glared at his friend. He looked as if he were going to argue further, but then decided against it and grudgingly took the spot next to Keith.

Keith hardly acknowledged his presence, continuing to spin his ring around his finger. His shoulders hunched forward as if he were carrying a great weight. Lance looked appalled at the boy’s behavior. He had his work cut out for him, trying to make this guy act like a prince.

“Stop fiddling with that thing,” he reprimanded. “Sit up straight. Remember, you’re a grand duke.”

Keith paused for a moment and raised his eyebrow at the other man. Then for good measure, he slouched even lower in the seat and stared coldly at Lance. “How is it that you know what grand dukes do or don’t do?” he asked.

Lance leaned closer and smirked. “I make it my business to know,” he said, suavely. When his smolder had no effect on the boy, he dropped his facade and sighed, “Look, Keith. I’m just trying to help, alright?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow at Pidge. He knew that his shorter companion could easily see through Lance’s bravado.

Keith contemplated Lance’s words for a moment, then sat up a little straighter and angled his body towards the Cuban. “Lance?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lance answered eagerly, thinking that Keith might actually be coming around to his advice.

“Do you really think I’m royalty?”

No. But out loud he said, “You know I do.”

“Then stop bossing me around!” Keith instantly returned to his slouched position and fixed his gaze back out the window.

Hunk and Pidge were doing their best not to burst out laughing. “He certainly has a mind of his own,” Hunk chuckled.

“Yeah, I hate that in a man,” Lance grumbled as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

Keith responded by raising his middle finger in Lance’s direction.

Hunk pulled another piece of paper out of his bag. On one side, Keith’s name was written. Lance’s name was on the other and underneath it there were three tally marks. Underneath Keith’s there were twenty-four tallies, and Hunk laughed to himself as he slashed a line of ink across four previously drawn straight lines. This was going to be a fun train ride.

——————————————————————————————-

A while later, Hunk and Pidge had left the car to inspect the train and its mechanisms, leaving Keith and Lance alone. Keith was preoccupying himself with a book, but Lance wanted to salvage what little companionship the two had. This plan was only going to work if Keith did exactly what he said.

Lance eyed the boy warily, taking in his tousled hair and deep purple eyes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and said, “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Keith barely even glanced up from his book; his eyes lightly flicked over Lance’s face. “Well, I think we did too,” he answered.

“Ok.” This was good, this was progress. Maybe this hot-head could be reasonable.

But without missing a beat, Keith continued, “But I appreciate your apology.”

What? Lance was incredulous at the audacity. He twitched, attempting to control himself. “Apology? Who said anything about an apology? I was just saying that we-”

Keith put down his book and cut him off. “Please, just don’t talk anymore, ok? It’s only gonna upset me.”

Lance stuck out his lower lip in a pout and sunk back into his chair. “Fine. I’ll be quiet if you will.”

Keith picked his book back up. “All right, I’ll be quiet.”

“Fine.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Keith glanced at Lance over the top of his book. He felt kind of bad for being rude, but this guy was just so annoying! He couldn’t help it. But he had been nice enough to help him get to Paris. The least Keith could do was attempt to play nice.

“You think you’re gonna miss it?” Keith tried to make conversation.

“Miss what, you’re talking?”

Keith fought back a sharp remark. “No,” he settled for. “Russia.”

Lance looked out the window and shook his head. “Nope.”

That was intriguing. Keith put his book down and leaned forward. “But it was your home.”

Lance shook his head again. “It was a place I once lived. End of story.”

“Well, then you must plan on making Paris your true home.”

“What is it with you and homes?” Lance stared at Keith with a hard, blue gaze and stretched his legs across the car challengingly.

Keith rolled his eyes and stood up. “Well, for one thing, it’s something that every normal person wants.” He tried to exit the car, but Lance’s legs were in the way. He tried to move around them, but Lance just kept moving them to block Keith’s way.

“And for another thing-” Keith huffed as he struggled. “It’s a thing where-”

“What?” Lance glanced up at him innocently.

“Ugh! Just forget it!” Keith let out a frustrated groan and climbed on the other car’s seat to get around Lance. This guy was so infuriating, Keith thought. Why in the world did I agree to go along with him?

And to add insult to injury, Lance simply shrugged and said, “Fine.”

Keith felt his temper starting to boil over and he would have grabbed Lance by the collar and given him a piece of his mind, but just then, Hunk and Pidge reentered the car.

Pidge instantly noticed the tension in the room and grabbed Keith’s arm to lead him from the room. As they left, Hunk and Lance heard Keith say, “I just can’t have him in my sight right now!”

Hunk turned and glared at Lance accusingly. “What did you do to him?”

“Me! It’s him!”

“I heard that!” Keith shouted from outside the car.

“Good!” Lance shouted back.

Pidge poked back into the car and exchanged a knowing glance with Hunk. “Oh no,” Hunk chuckled. “An unspoken attraction?” They both laughed and Pidge left to rejoin Keith. When Hunk looked back at his friend, Lance’s face was one of pure horror.

“Attraction?!” he screeched. “For that skinny little piece of mullet?! Have you lost your mind?!”

Hunk shrugged and patted his friend on the shoulder. “I was simply asking a question.”

Lance humphed and crossed his arms. “Attraction,” he repeated, mutinously. “Ridiculous.”

——————————————————————————————-

After everyone’s tempers had calmed down, Keith and Pidge both returned to the car and decided to take a nap. Lance sat gazing out the window. Hunk had decided to explore the train a little further.

As he walked down the passageway, he overheard a conversation from some of the other passengers. Both had their passports in their hands. “Last month the traveling papers were blue,” one of them pointed out. “But now they’re red.”

It took a moment for Hunk’s thoughts to process, but once they did his eyes widened and he took off down the corridor. He burst into the car causing Lance to jump out of his seat. One look at his friend and Lance knew something was wrong. Hunk always looked like he was going to cry when he panicked. “Goodness, Hunk. Where’s the fire?”

“Uh… Not to cause any alarm, but the traveling papers are in red.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Official traveling papers are in red. Ours are in blue.”

“Crap,” Lance muttered under his breath.

“I say we move to the baggage car,” Hunk explained, beginning to gather their things.

“I say we get off this train.” Lance stood up as well and helped Hunk.

All the commotion had woken up Pidge. They sat up groggily, turning their gaze to the window. Their eyes widened when they saw a dark purple, smoke creature flying next to the train. They rubbed the sleep from their eyes, but when they looked back, the creature was gone. It must have been a dream, they thought to themselves, but they still couldn’t shake the bad feeling.

Hunk had already left with the majority of the luggage and it was up to Lance to get the rest and to wake up Keith. He stood over the sleeping man’s figure and tried not to think about the fact that he was kind of cute when he wasn’t frowning or talking. But they were in a time crunch.

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning down to shake Keith’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Keith did in fact wake up. Living in an orphanage had made him a light sleeper. And with someone so rudely shaking him awake, it was only second nature for Keith to whip around and slam his fist into his attacker’s nose.

“Ow!” Lance fell back on top of Pidge, clutching at his nose.

Keith realized what he had done, and instantly went to apologize, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else-” He trailed off as he realized exactly who he had punched. “Oh, it’s you. Well, that’s ok then.”

“Get off!” Pidge grunted from underneath Lance. They managed to push him off enough to crawl loose. Lance, still holding his nose, gathered up the rest of the luggage. “Come on, we’ve gotta go.”

“Where are we going?” Keith asked.

Lance avoided his question and herded the two out and up the corridor. “I think you broke my nose!” he groaned.

Keith sighed from in front of him, “What a baby.”

Lance maneuvered them all the way to the luggage car. Hunk was already there. “Ah, yes, yes,” he said as they entered. “This will do nicely.” The metal door of the car closed with a sickening thunk. Everyone shivered at the drop in temperature; the luggage car was a few degrees colder than the rest of the train. A cloud of steam was visible when everyone breathed.

Lance went to stand next to Hunk. “They’ll freeze in here,” Hunk muttered to his friend. “They can thaw in Paris,” Lance whispered back.

Pidge looked skeptically at the two. “The baggage car?”

Both men just laughed nervously and shrugged. Pidge continued, “There wouldn’t be anything wrong with our papers now, would there, gentlemen?”

Lance rushed forward. “Of course not.” His brain was desperately searching for a solution. His gaze locked onto Keith. “It’s just that… We hated to see the Grand Duke mingling with all those commoners.”

Keith looked incredulously at Lance. “Really? You know I lived in an orphanage right? I’ve lived with commoners my whole life.”

Pidge gave up their inquiry as the two began to argue. They knew Lance was lying, but there was nothing to do about it now. But that’s when Pidge noticed the unusual purple light shining from under the doorway. The same sort of light they had seen from outside the window. “Uh, guys… I think-”

Pidge never got to finish their sentence because at that moment a huge shudder rippled through the car, knocking everyone off their feet. Hunk and Pidge both fell where they were standing, but Lance managed to fall on top of Keith. The door they had all just come through was ripped off its hinges. “What was that?” shouted Lance.

“I don’t know!” Hunk shouted back. “But there goes the dining car!” The engine and the baggage car had been detached from the rest of the train, which was now growing smaller in the companion’s view.

Pidge stood up and brushed themselves off, only to notice the same purple light shining, this time from the other door at the other end of the car. They went to inspect it as Lance and Keith still struggled on the ground.

The luggage had also fallen on top of Lance, sandwiching him with Keith. “Get off!” Keith groaned from underneath, trying to wriggle his way out from the bottom of the pile. “I’m trying!” Lance grunted. Keith’s movement wasn’t helping.

“Hey, Hunk! Check this out!” Pidge called their friend over. Hunk moved to the other end of the car. His eyes widened at the purple light. “You see it too, right?” Pidge asked. Hunk just nodded.

He glanced out the window at the top of the door and stopped at what he saw. Fire and smoke were billowing out of the smokestack and little bits of hot coal were raining down from above.

“Uh, Lance?” he called back, not taking his eyes off the sight in front of him.

“What?” Lance and Keith had finally managed to get up off the floor.

“I think someone has flambeed our engine!”

Lance came over and pulled the door to the car open. His stomach turned as he realized just how fast the train was moving. The Russian scenery ripped by. “Something’s not right,” Lance muttered to himself. He steeled himself, then leapt from the car, latching onto the back of the coal car. “Wait here!” he called back. “I’ll check it out.”

He climbed to the top of the coal car, carefully making his way across the black rocks, then jumped down into the engine room. The first thing that hit him was the heat. The room was as hot as a furnace and the heat was blurring his vision. Lance crossed his arms over his face protectively. “Hello?” he shouted. “Anybody here?”

There was no answer. There was no one in the engine room. Lance inched closer to the engine to inspect the gauges. Every single one was going haywire and as Lance looked, the gauge indicating speed burst, shattering glass everywhere.

Keith had joined Hunk and Pidge. “We’re going way too fast!” he shouted over the scream of the wind. Lance landed right in front of them, quickly getting back into the car. “Nobody’s driving this train!” He ran towards the side door and began sliding it open. “We’re gonna have to jump!”

Keith looked at him like he was crazy. “Did you say jump?”

Lance managed to get the door open and everybody looked out. Just at that moment, the ground dropped out from underneath the train tracks, plunging down into a deep valley. Keith indicated the long drop. “After you.”

“Fine.” Lance stood up and slammed the door shut. “Then we’ll uncouple the car.” He leapt back out on the metal structures connecting the two cars, but it seemed to be welded together. More like melted together.

“Come on!” he shouted. “I need a wrench, an ax- anything!” Hunk had found a toolbox and rifled through it until he found a hammer. He passed it out to Lance who then began striking at the metal.

Meanwhile, Keith and Pidge were also searching for a solution. The latter was rifling through some of the cargo on the train and found a small box tucked away in the box. They grinned wickedly when they read the label on the box and motioned for Keith to come look. Once Keith realized what Pidge intended, he laughed to himself. “Pidge, you’re a genius.”

Lance was still hammering away, but nothing was working. He brought the tool down with all his strength and it broke apart in his hands. “Ugh, come on!” he shouted in frustration. “There’s gotta be something in there better than this.”

It was at that moment, that Keith leaned out of the car and handed Lance a red stick of dynamite. The end was already lit.

“That’ll work,” Lance gulped. He wedged it in the middle, then rushed back into the car. Hunk and Pidge had piled up the cargo to make a sort of barricade and everyone ran to get behind it. Lance crouched and squeezed next to Keith. “What do they teach you in those orphanages?” he jokingly asked.

Keith was about to answer the rhetorical question when the car jolted with the force of the explosion. The plan had worked. The engine car sped on ahead, but the luggage car was still going incredibly fast. The explosion had also knocked the whole front of the car off, leaving the group exposed to the wind.

Hunk ran to the emergency break and desperately tried to turn it. “The brakes are out!” he shouted after he realized his efforts were futile. “Turn harder!” Lance yelled back. Hunk twisted with all his might, but only ended up breaking the wheel off in his hands. Lance groaned and turned back to everyone else. “Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of track; we’ll just coast to a stop.”

Everyone nodded, thinking the plan was solid enough, until the train crested the top of a hill. All their faces quickly turned to dread as they realized the bridge coming up ahead was broken; large slats of wood dangling over a deep chasm and creating a huge gap.

“You were saying?” Keith asked.

Lance’s eyes scoured the car, determined to find a solution. His eyes locked onto a heavy chain located near the other end of the car. “I’ve got an idea,” he said as jogged to it. “Hunk, give me a hand with this.”

Lance leaned his body out of the door, then carefully grabbed the bottom of the train and swung himself down, so that he could see the metal framework underneath. He gasped at the speed of the ground moving beneath him and gripped harder to the train. “Hand me the chain!” he called to Hunk.

But unfortunately, Hunk had tripped and managed to fall inside one of the empty boxes and was currently having trouble climbing out of it. Pidge was doing their best to help. That left Keith. He kneeled down, grabbed the chain, and tried handing it to Lance out the door.

“Not you!” said Lance.

“Hunk’s busy at the moment,” Keith shot back. Lance made a face, but took the chain anyways. He looped it around one of the metal struts of the train and pulled it tight.

The train lurched a little and Lance hung on for dear life, his gaze locked on the underside of the train. That was when he noticed a few loose bits of metal hanging off the underside of the car. The train lurched again and the metal broke free, heading directly towards Lance’s face.

He climbed up in a panic, desperate to get out of the way of the oncoming metal, but his hand grasped at nothing. This is it, he thought. But suddenly, something warm and solid grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the way, just as the metal went flying by.

Lance came face to face with Keith. In this close proximity, Lance was struck by just how cute this boy was up close. And he had just saved Lance’s life. Purple eyes met blue and held the gaze for what felt like an eternity.

The sound of breaking wood snapped them out of the reverie and both glanced to see what had caused the noise. The metal bits had shot out from underneath the train and collided with some nearby trees, consequently breaking those trees cleanly in half.

“To think that could have been you,” Keith joked, using his strength to pull Lance all the way back into the car. Lance stood and brushed himself off. “If we live through this,” Lance said, “Remind me to thank you. Now come on, help me with the chain.”

Pidge had managed to get Hunk free and all four companions knelt down and pushed the remainder of the heavy chain out of the door. “Here goes nothing,” said Lance. “Brace yourselves.”

And his plan worked. The chain latched to the track and began to slow them down. However, the momentum of the train was still too much and it began to rip up the track behind them. They were still slowing down, but not enough. Thankfully, the chasm was still a little bit ahead, so there was a space for them to jump into the snow.

They all gathered their luggage and stood at the side of the car. “Well,” said Keith, sarcastically. “This is our stop.”

Lance gave them a countdown and on three, they all jumped from the train into the soft snow below. A few moments after they jumped, the train rocketed over the edge of the broken bridge and caused quite the impressive explosion upon impact.

Everyone stood and dusted themselves off. It seemed no one had been injured, which was a relief. They all regrouped and took a moment to laugh at the incredibly dangerous situation they had just survived.

“I hate trains,” Lance muttered. “Remind me never to get on the train again.”

Read Chapter 5 Here!

#voltron #voltron au #klance #klance au #anastasia #anastasia au #lance mcclain #keith kogane #pidge gunderson #hunk garrett #takashi shirogane #shiro #princess allura #coran #zarkon #fanfiction

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magicmakesmehappyasaniffler · 8 years ago

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Broken. Chapter 4

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4:

He doesn’t move. Not much at least.

Not for minutes.

Not for hours.

Not for days.

Instead, he stands in front of my writing desk with his eyes trained on the paperwork beneath him. His eyes were memorizing every word on the page in front of him as if the longer he looks at it the more likely he’ll see something he didn’t see before. He looked at it for so long that he’d almost become a statue in front of me.

A statue of a handsome man seconds away from breaking apart at the seams. A man who had a hope that was fragile and inches away from consuming his every thought.

He seemed broken suddenly as if the vengeance he’d wanted to perform had fallen by the way side. I could tell that his pain was driving him nuts. The internal pain of whatever Grindelwald put him through.

Pain that I couldn’t imagine.

Even now I couldn’t understand the pain he’d gone through, the pain pulsating beneath the surface of his calm exterior. Under the slicked back hair and nice dress pants paired with the black buttoned up shirt. All of it masking the pain that he’d been trying to cast away with every passing breath.

I stand in the doorway and watch him closely, my eyes fixated on the way he hunches over the desk in front of him, his hands on either side of the stack of parchment on top of the Cherrywood desk. His slicked back hair seemed to shine in the minimal light coming through the window.

The light that marked the tenth hour in a row that he’d been standing in front of that desk. He knows I’m watching him but he says nothing as I watch on in silence.

It’s not until I take a step into the room and my feet step over the squeaking floor boards that he decides to acknowledge that I exist in the same room as him.

“Are you sure this is all the paper work you have for the case on Grindelwald?”

His voice quiet as our gazes lock together. He’d asked me that same question at least five times in the last three days. A question that I’d answered more than a few times.

“Yes Percival…”

I whisper as my eyes move to the cup of coffee I was holding for him, the warm mug meant to help him focus.

I place the cup on the desk in front of him and sigh when our gazes lock further, a tension building between the both of us.

He wanted answers and he wanted them now, even if I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Even if a small part of him knew that I had already given him everything I had.

“… Maybe you should take a break. I’ll cook you something and we can regroup. Maybe taking a bit of time away from the paper work will be a good thing.”

My suggestion causes his face to contort to pure frustration the moment he hears it, protest evident in his eyes as I hand him the cup of coffee. A part of me knew it wasn’t a good idea to say anything to him, but I couldn’t resist wanting to take care of him. I couldn’t resist the way he looked at me and how broken he was after everything.

He’d lost so much and I knew he need to get his strength back before we could do anything productive. Anything that would really help him get what he wants.

“Anastasia, this is important. We can’t take breaks and we can’t act like this isn’t as important as it is. I don’t want food or talking. I want answers.”

He speaks through clenched teeth and with furrowed brows. He’s angry that I’m not as focused on his need for revenge. He’s angry that I’m not as ready to hunt and kill every single wizard who’d wronged him and led him to being captured.

He’s angry that I am not ready to kill Grindelwald.

Not like he is.

At the ice-cold tone that escapes him my head tilts down, my eyes finding the ground as he puts the cup of coffee I’d made him down onto the table in front of him. Even the way he takes the cup from me suggests anger and frustration, something that sparks my own frustration within me.

I’d been the one to find him all those weeks ago.

The night he was broken and battered.

I’d been the one to take him into my home and take care of him, but now it felt as if he thought everything I was doing wasn’t enough.

As if it wasn’t up to his standards.

And perhaps my way of doing things wasn’t up to his standards. Percival graves was a man with a lavish lifestyle. A family name that instilled fear into the heart of anyone who dared to oppose him. He was the man at the top of the ladder and I was just some person he’d let get too close.

I didn’t matter before and I didn’t matter now.

I was a means to an end.

A means to helping him get the revenge he so desperately needed.

“You know…”

I start through clenched teeth, my eyes daring to meet his for a moment.

“… You might get far treating other people like shit, but that’s not how it’s going to work with me. You don’t get to treat me as if I’m not doing enough, not when I’m doing everything I can.”

I speak quickly as the tears of frustration threaten to build up and spill over right before him, something I didn’t want to happen. Something I decide to not let happen as I turn away from him, my eyes fixated on the doorway I desperately want to leave through.

Except when I attempt to move I feel his hands grip mine, his touch stopping me instantly.

“I’m sorry…”

He whispers quietly, so quiet that I almost think I’ve hallucinated the words. In fact, if it weren’t for the secure grip he had on my arm I would’ve thought it was all in my head. But it’s the moment I feel the sensation of his fingertips brushing my skin as they continued to grip my hands I know it’s real. That’s the moment I decide to glance over my shoulder to look at him, our eyes meeting again.

Once eye contact is made a look flickers over him for a moment, a devilish look that dances in the corner of his eye as he watches me. A look that I’m so captivated by that I don’t realize he’s moved in closer to me, that his body has managed to guide mine to face his.

Our chests touch and the devilish look in his brown orbs seems to grow as he lets out another raspy apology.

“… I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Nor did I wish to seem ungrateful…”

He pauses as his body seems to move in a bit closer, our noses inches apart. His eyes move from mine to my lips and back up in one swoop. An action that makes my breathing hitch, my whole body paralyzed by his sudden intimate actions.

An action that worsens slightly when his lips find mine without warning.

His touch is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. His lips go against mine in a slow skillful fashion, as if he knew exactly what he needed to do to make me go crazy. His lips seem to deepen the kiss a bit further when his grip on my hands tighten a bit, an action that draws me in closer to him as my hands fall at his side.

“… I’m more than grateful for you.”

He murmurs against my lips as he struggles to breath when the weight of our kiss becomes too much for either of us to bare. He pulls away after a moment and rests his forehead against mine until we both begin to breath regularly again.

I don’t know what had brought on the kiss nor do I realize why he suddenly decided to kiss me, but I don’t want to argue. In the years, we’d known each other trust had been something we’d formed. An unspoken bond that meant a lot to the both of us, something that had only been confirmed by the kiss we’d just shared.

“Is that how you end all your arguments?”

I ask lightly while looking up at him. Our bodies are so close that we can study the rich ridges of our eyes, the colors in them and the way his pupils dilate at the breathless voice I have once he’s done kissing me.

The sound seems to be music to his ears because he pulls his lips back down to mine, this kiss slower than the last. As if he’s trying to memorize the way we fit together. This time I manage to break my hands from his and this time I find his chest. Under the weight of my touch I feel him flinch for a moment, his lips breaking away from mine for a moment.

When he does this panic finds him, the pain he’d been feeling finding his face the way it had for the last few days. I feel my brow furrow at the sight, a look of confusion pulling at me.

Had I hurt him?

Had I crossed a terrible line?

“Percival…”

I whisper when the tears come, when the pain moves from his eyes to his face. I know instantly that whatever affection we’d shown each other had been used against him by the same man who’d taken him.

The same man who’d traumatized him.

“… It’s me. It’s Anastasia. You’re here with me and safe with me. No one will harm you.”

There’s a strength to my words when I say them, a strength that seems to grow when I reach forward and place my hands on either side of his head. I half expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead he leans into the touch, his face resting against the palm of my hands.

“I know…”

His voice murmurs in a breath.

“… It just all comes back at different times. I have no control over it. I have no way to stop it and I think that’s what drives me the most insane.”

I nod because I understand. I understand what it means to be traumatized by something even if I hadn’t gone through it the way he had. Even if I hadn’t known his pain or what it was that he went through.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it but, if you ever do, I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

As aurors we were always encouraged to not have feelings for others. Yes, we could care but we were encouraged to hide those feelings. To bury them as far down as we possibly could. To pretend they don’t exist or that there was no hope for them. It was a technique used to isolate us and make us realize that there was evil in the world and having feelings could make everything more complicated.

Could make our jobs more complicated.

But in this moment, under his gaze, I feel compelled to let my feelings out. To let him know how I could help him. How I could make him feel less broken after everything he’d experienced.

A small smile plays on his lips when I say the words his tears seeming to freeze in place as he thinks of the right way to respond to what I’ve said and the intentions I have within me.

“When you came into my program I didn’t think I’d be able to work with you…”

He starts.

“… You were beautiful and I thought you’d be a distraction for me. But I knew I was wrong the moment we had a meeting and you opened up that mouth of yours and gave us the facts that no one else had. I remember not being able to listen to anything else. That’s when I knew I liked you. The moment you spoke, then it only expanded when you excelled at your job. When you showed your kindness and your willingness to always do the right thing. No matter what. You inspired me to be more than an Auror.”

I feel my cheeks redden at the words, at the suggestion that I’d inspired the man in front of me in any way. When I’d started working at Macusa I’d worked hard but I never thought it was anything compared to what he did on a day to day basis.

He’d been the man who could do it all. All I did was take in the bad guys and support the stats when they were needed. I did what he told me… I wasn’t anything worth inspiration.

“That’s awfully kind but I didn’t do anything nearly as impressive as you are. You’re the Percival Graves. You do great things and you’ll continue to do it when you get back to work.”

The smile grows on his lips as he moves his lips back to mine. His kiss as slow and beautiful as the last two kisses we’ve shared.

“You have no idea what kind of things you inspire in people.”

He rasps while his hands move to my hips before drawing them in against him, our bodies connecting as we remain caught in each other’s eyes. The longer he looks at me the more I realize that he’s forgetting all about the things that had been bugging him. The longer he looks at me the more I know that this is his way of forgetting about the horrors of his revenge.

“I learned from someone I met at work. A man who knew how to make the world a safer place.”

He chuckles darkly when I compliment him, his eyebrows raising.

“I’d like to take you up on your offer of taking a break if you don’t mind…”

He whispers leaning in to kiss the side of my head.

“… I think getting a second to think is exactly what I need.”

He sounds hopeful when he speaks, his hands moving from my hips as he looks at me, his eyes never leaving mine as he waits for me to distract him. As he waits for me to ground him in reality as opposed to the trauma that still haunted his features.

“I’ll get right on that sir.”

I move my hands to his and decide to drag him with me. I was going to give him a break alright and it would be one he wouldn’t forget.

#colin farrell #colin farrell fanfiction #colin farrell fanfic #colin farrell fan fiction #colin farrell fan fic #colin farrell x reader #colin farrell imagines #colin farrell imagine #percival graves #percival graves fanfic #percival graves fan fic #percival graves fan fiction #percival graves fanfiction #percival graves imagines #percival graves x reader #percival graves imagine #fantastic beasts and where to find them

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sengoku1 · 7 years ago

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William Kerns’ Movie Marquee — 5 films open in Lubbock movie theaters

MOVIES OPENING FRIDAY

7 Days In Entebbe

Israeli soldiers embark on a mission to rescue more than 240 hostages from an airport in Entebbe, Uganda, in the summer of 1976.

PG-13: Violence, thematic material, drug use, smoking and language — Premiere Cinemas.

A Fantastic Woman

Sebastian Lelio’s “A Fantastic Woman” made history twice when it won the Academy Award on March 4 for Best Foreign Language Film. It was the first Oscar win for a film from Chile, and the first Oscar win for a movie with a transgender character in the leadThe movie focuses on waitress and singer Marina, portrayed by transgender actress Daniela Vega, fighting for her dignity while grieving after her boyfriend Orlando (Francisco Reyes) dies, apparently from a brain aneurysm. Marina is viewed with suspicion by a detective, doctors and even Orlando’s family, the latter forbidding her from attending the wake or funeral.

R: Language, sexual content, nudity and disturbing assault — Alamo Drafthouse.

I Can Only Imagine

Based on the incredible true-life story that inspired the beloved, chart-topping song, “I Can Only Imagine” is a song that brings ultimate hope to so many. Amazingly, the song was written in mere minutes by MercyMe lead singer Bart Millard. In reality, those lyrics took a lifetime to craft.

PG: Thematic elements including violence — Tinseltown 17, Movies 16 and Stars & Stripes Drive-In.

Love, Simon

Everyone deserves a great love story, but for 17-year-old Simon Spier, it’s a little more complicated. He hasn’t told his family or friends that he’s gay, and he doesn’t know the identity of the anonymous classmate that he’s fallen for online. Resolving both issues proves hilarious, terrifying and life-changing.

PG-13: Thematic elements, sexual references, language and teen partying — Premiere Cinemas, Alamo Drafthouse, Tinseltown 17 and Movies 16.

Tomb Raider (3-D/2-D)

Still based on the 2013 video game of the same name. Alicia Vikander now stars as Lara Croft, the fiercely independent daughter of an eccentric adventurer who vanished years earlier. Hoping to solve the mystery of her father’s disappearance, Croft embarks on a perilous journey to his last-known destination: a fabled tomb on a mythical island off the coast of Japan. The stakes couldn’t be higher as Lara must rely on her sharp mind, blind faith and stubborn spirit to venture into the unknown.

PG-13: Thematic elements and violent images — Premiere Cinemas (includes IMAX), Alamo Drafthouse, Tinseltown 17 (includes XD) and Stars & Stripes Drive-In.

MOVIES CONTINUING

12 Strong

Kerns rating: Three and one-half stars

Danish director Nicolai Guglsig’s movie is an entertaining tale about little-known horse soldiers, the first American military allowed to take the fight to the Taliban and al-Qaida allies in Afghanistan weeks after the 9/11/2001 attack. The story captures Americans’ reaction. Based on declassified accounts and Doug Stanton’s 2009 book “The Horse Soldiers,” the film focuses on the Fifth Special Forces Group and Captain Nelson (Chris Hemsworth) who, though inexperienced in war, pledged to bring everyone home alive. Guglsig focuses on Hemsworth, his initial lack of “killer eyes” and uneasy relationship with the Northern Alliance general (Abdul Rashid Dostum) whom he must befriend. Matters are helped by Nelson having been raised on a ranch and thus comfortable on horseback — because many battles must be waged while riding into battle, automatic weapons blazing.

R: War violence and language — Movies 16.

Annihilation

Kerns rating: Four stars

Alex Garland’s sci-fi drama “Annihilation” — admittedly not for everyone, and inspired by Jeff VanderMeer’s “Southern Reach Trilogy” — is helped mightily by an eerie original score and wildly innovative visual effects. Phrased in nostalgic terms, this film will blow a lot of minds. Audiences learn the military tried repeatedly to cross a colorful barrier within the United States, aptly called the Shimmer, in an attempt to discover how Area X beyond has been affected. Only one soldier, Kane, returned alive, if not mentally whole, from a possible environmental disaster zone. The military has five female scientists try next. Biologist and former soldier Lena, (Natalie Portman) wisely tells no one that Kane is her husband. Joining her: an anthropologist, psychologist, surveyor and linguist (Jennifer Jason Leigh, Tessa Thompson, Gina Rodriguez and Tuva Novotny). Not all will return. What they discover defies laws of nature. Don’t give too much away, although the film at times seems like one big spoiler. Can there be an alien, not necessarily extraterrestrial, wielding molecular change — and intruders possibly internally consumed? Time is an unspoken factor; the Shimmer is approaching cities as Area X expands daily. Good luck grasping it all. Garland’s “Ex Machina” may be the better film, but I can’t wait to see what he does next.

R: Violence, bloody images, language and sexuality — Premiere Cinemas and Tinseltown 17.

Black Panther (3-D/2-D)

Kerns rating: Four and one-half stars

The intelligent script conjures thought and questions. Directing only his third film, Ryan Coogler makes stunning decisions. Viewers will be awed when introduced to the apparent Third World African country of Wakanda, which resisted being colonized by all who might discover its source of Vibranium, which has been used used to secretly transform Wakanda into the world’s most advanced culture and civilization. Art direction, costumes and music are perfectly realized, as is the manner in which the nation’s women play vital roles. As Chadwick Boseman returns home for his own inauguration, he reunites with Lupita Nyong’o, one of Wakanda’s many spies, and soon is advised by Danai Gurira, who leads the country’s security forces. Stealing scenes is charismatic and funny newcomer Letitia Wright as T’Challa’s half sister. She also is Wakanda’s James Bond-ish Q,CQ a courageous technical genius providing equal numbers of gadgets and one-liners.

PG-13: Action violence, and rude gesture — Premiere Cinemas, Alamo Drafthouse, Tinseltown 17 and the Stars & Stripes Drive-In.

Death Wish

Kerns rating: Two stars

The first “Death Wish” iturned around Charles Bronson’s career, to the point that he was still making “Death Wish” sequels in his 70s. There was no call for a remake, even with a better performance from Bruce Willis as pacifist turned modern day vigilante Paul Kersey. His wife and college-age daughter (Camila Morrone) are attacked in their home in a robbery gone bad. His wife is killed; his daughter survives, and Kersey happens upon an unregistered gun and walks the streets, looking for hoodlums to shoot.

R: Vloody violence, and language — Premiere Cinemas, Alamo Drafthouse, Tinseltown 17 and Movies 16.

Every Day

Angourie Rice stars as a shy, 16-year-old girl named Rhiannon, who falls in love with a traveling soul named “A,” who wakes up every morning in a different body, living a different life each day.

PG-13: Thematic content, language, teem drinking and suggestive material — Premiere Cinemas.

Ferdinand (3-D/2-D)

Kerns rating: Three stars

Hardly Pixar-level storytelling. Director Carlos Saldanha could not resist placing a bull in a china shop, with predictable results. Yet it remains an amusing tale, a loyal adaptation of 1936 children’s book “The Story of Ferdinand,” written by Munro Leaf and illustrated by Robert Lawson, a story not seen on screen since the Disney cartoon in 1938. Ferdinand — ironically voiced by wrestler-turned-actor John Cena — is bullied as a youngster for preferring to smell flowers. He finds true happiness when he escapes and is rescued by the owner of a flower plantation and his daughter. Naturally, Ferdinand grows (and grows) and is mistaken for a prime opponent by an undefeated matador.

PG: Rude humor, action and thematic elements — Tinseltown 17.

Fifty Shades Freed

The final installment of a film trilogy adapted from novels by British author E.L. James. Billionaire entrepreneur Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan) and Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) are a couple finding happiness with a BDSM sexual relationship.

R: Erotic sexual content, graphic nudity and language — Premiere Cinemas.

Forever My Girl

Liam Page (played by Alex Roe) left sweetheart Josie Preston (Jessica Rothe) at the altar. He ran away for a shot at fame. Josie tries her best to keep Liam at a distance, but life has one more surprise awaiting him.

PG: Thematic elements including drinking, and language — Tinseltown 17.

Game Night

Kerns rating: Two and one-half stars

Comedy is still, as they say, hard. Happily, co-stars Rachel McAdams and Jason Bateman shine as married and mutually competitive game nerds who share legitimate charisma and inspire smiles. They play Annie and Max, whose couples game night is one-upped when Max’s richer, more popular brother Brooks (Kyle Chandler) calls on a local company called Murder We Wrote to host a party in which guests try to win by solving a realistic murder mystery. Naturally, for the few who missed the trailer, fake thugs and federal agents are replaced by dangerously real crooks.

R: Language, sexual references and violence — Alamo Drafthouse, Tinseltown 17 and Movies 16.

The Greatest Showman

Kerns rating: Three stars

Hugh Jackman impresses in his dream role of P.T. Barnum, but the storytelling is shallow. A few songs are memorable (such as “This Is Me”), yet there is precious little story exposition between them. Deserving applause is choreography by Ashley Wallen, revealing fantastic rapport with director Michael Gracey. Jackman and Efron are musical veterans, and it shows. Michelle Williams is tragically underused as Charity Barnum, who is aware when her husband is captivated by Swedish performer Jenny Lind. Social statements blend into entertainment and, by the end, good gosh, even elephants seem to appear out of nowhere.

PG: Thematic elements, including brawl — Premiere Cinemas and Movies 16.

Gringo

Harold Soyinka (David Oyelowo) is an average businessman who works for a company that has developed a “Weed Pill,” medical marijuana that has been simplified to pill form. His bosses, Elaine (Charlize Theron) and Richard (Joel Edgerton), send him to Mexico to handle the marketing of the product. However, while out partying, he is kidnapped by a cartel — specifically one that holds a grudge against Harold’s bosses and their company. Richard hires a professional named Mitch (Sharlto Copley) to safely remove Harold from harm’s way, but Mitch and Harold end up having to survive one outrageous situation after another.

R: Language, violence and sexual content — Premiere Cinemas and Tinseltown 17.

Hostiles

Kerns rating: Five stars

This 2017 drama from writer-director Scott Cooper, like Clint Eastwood’s “Unforgiven” in 1990, proves the western is not dead — while taking a darker approach examining characters on the edge, affected by lives of brutal violence. The main characters, U.S. Cavalry Capt. Joseph Blocker (Christian Bale) and Northern Cheyenne war chief Yellow Hawk (Wes Studi), developed bitter hatred for one another over years of bloody battles, until the latter was captured and incarcerated. The story opens in 1892. Blocker, nearing retirement, has finished a campaign against the Apache; yet Comanches continue to murder homesteaders for horses, recently a father and three children in merciless fashion. The mother (Rosamund Pike) survived by hiding, and emerges emotionally broken. Blocker is ordered to escort Yellow Hawk, who contracted cancer during seven years of confinement, and his family from a New Mexico fort to ancestral grasslands in Montana, by order of President Benjamin Harrison. Crossing paths with marauding Comanche, dangerous fur trappers and racist whites, their survival odds are slim. “Hostiles” is special, however, because of character arc and change; this western also deals openly with post traumatic stress. Bale is incredible as he questions his own humanity; he is heartbreaking during his “I had a friend” monologue, and dodges a racist tag when he calls black Buffalo Soldier Henry the best soldier he’s ever known … and may also mean best friend. Bale learned to speak Northern Cheyenne, which grants enhanced authenticity to conversations with the brilliantly subtle Studi. Pike is outstanding, as is Jonathan Majors as Henry and so many others in a drama working on varied levels.

R: Violence and language — Movies 16.

The Hurricane Heist

A rural Alabama town faces two problems. There’s a hurricane bearing down on the Gulf coastline, and there’s a team of 30 well-armed mercenaries intent on looting the local treasury facility.

PG-13: Gun violence, action, destruction, language and suggestive material — Premiere Cinemas, Tinseltown 17, Movies 16 and Stars & Stripes Drive-In.

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (3-D/2-D)

Kerns rating: Three and one-half stars

Kudos to the writing, casting and performances — even considering CGI improvements since Robin Williams introduced “Jumanji” in 1995. The story opens a la “The Breakfast Club,” with high school detention again populated by types: skinny nerd Spencer (Alex Wolf); football jock Fridge (Ser’Darius Blain), pretty-turned-vain selfie-taker Bethany (Madison Iseman), and shy bookworm Martha (Morgan Turner). They find a game console (Jumanji), and barely hear African drums before being sucked into the game and transformed into adult avatars. The nerd becomes a smoldering, muscular adventurer (Dwayne Johnson), the jock is now a small whiner (Kevin Hart), a shy bookworm gives way to a Lara Croft-type (Karen Gillan), and sexy Bethany trades her body for that of middle-aged cartographer Jack Black. Adult avatars, however, maintain teenage personalities and fears. Kudos to director Jake Kasdan, who introduces CGI hippos, snakes and jaguars, but also one message about overcoming insecurities and another involving the four opposites working together if they are to survive. The ensemble work shines, despite Black stealing several scenes as he channels his much-too-believable inner Bethany. Still, one wishes the game’s villains were something more African than greedy explorer Bobby Cannavale and dozens of goons on motorcycles. Motorcycles? In the jungle? Really?

PG-13: Adventure action, suggestive content and language — Tinseltown 17, Movies 16 (through Monday) and Stars & Stripes Drive-In.

Maze Runner: The Death Cure

The final chapter of a trilogy. In director Wes Ball’s finale, Thomas (played by Dylan O’Brien) again leads his group of escaped Gladers. To save their friends, they break into the last city, a WCKD-controlled labyrinth that may turn out to be the deadliest maze of all. They must makes it out alive to find answers to questions they have been asking since they first arrived in the maze.

PG-13: Sci-fi violence and action, language, and some thematic elements — Movies 16.

Peter Rabbit (3-D/2-D)

Peter Rabbit, the mischievous and adventurous hero who captivated generations of readers, now stars in his own irreverent film comedy with attitude. Peter’s feud with farmer Thomas McGregor (Domhnall Gleeson) escalates to greater heights as they rival for the affection of Bea (Rose Byrne), a sweet animal lover living next door. James Corden provides the voice of Peter. Margot Robbie, Elizabeth Debicki and Daisy Ridley provide the voices of Peter’s triplet sisters: Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail. Inspired by author Beatrix Potter’s stories about the same characters.

PG: Rude humor and action — Premiere Cinemas and Tinseltown 17.

Red Sparrow

Francis Lawrence, who directed the last three “Hunger Games” films, reunites with Jennifer Lawrence, introduced as Bolshoi prima ballerina Dominika Egorova, who faces a bleak future after suffering a career-ending injury. She has no choice but to become a Russian spy and train at Sparrow School, a secret intelligence service training candidates to use their minds and bodies as weapons. Egorova emerges a dangerous Sparrow after completing sadistic training. Matthew Schoenaerts portrays her uncle Ivan, who knows the former dancer will do anything to help her emotionally vital but infirm mother Nina (Joely Richardson). Charlotte Rampling is the icy headmistress running the training school, and Jeremy Irons is Russian General Vladimir Korchnoi, who knows just how far a Sparrow like Dominika can be trusted. It appears that Lawrence’s Sparrow is being convinced by CIA agent Nate Nash (Joel Edgerton) to become a double agent.

R: Violence, torture, sexual content, language, and graphic nudity — Premiere Cinemas, Alamo Drafthouse, Tinseltown 17 and Movies 16.

The Shape of Water

Kerns rating: Five stars

Academy Award winner: Best Picture. Sally Hawkins is incredible as mute, lonely Eliza Esposito, who forges a relationship with an amphibian male imprisoned in the government lab that she helps clean each night. Bookend narration by Giles, This fairy tale blooms into a tragic romance influenced by the director’s affection for 1954′s “Creature from the Black Lagoon.” A Cold War rages against the Russians, inspiring sadistic Col. Strickland (Michael Shannon) to drag the amphibian (Doug Jones) from a South American river. Upon attacking his captor, the amphibian is kept in chains and tortured. Yet this becomes a story about love and language, as Eliza secretly uses eggs, sign language and music to communicate. Del Toro reveals his affection for horror films, government conspiracies and, surprise, dreamy 1930s musicals — all within an original romance where everyone colors outside the lines. Cinematographer Dan Lausten creates amazing images in a flooded apartment, and composer Alexandre Desplat delivers a romantic score that also earned an Oscar. Wonderful support arrives from Jenkins; Octavia Spencer as Eliza’s friend and interpreter; and even Michael Stuhlbarg as a Russian spy.

R: Sexual content, graphic nudity, violence and language — Movies 16.

The Strangers, Prey at Night

Kerns rating: Two stars

In 2008, writer-director Bryan Bertino explored apathetic violence via “The Strangers.” A decade later, more near-mute, masked home invaders are in a sequel, this time written by Bertino and directed by Johannes Roberts. At times, the story is a super low budget salute to John Carpenter’s early work, at least “Halloween” and “Christine,” except now there are three Michael Myers pursuing a terrified family through a deserted trailer park. The other option is a bored generation for whom murder is just a Friday night option. Why kill? Why not? But moviegoers are too familiar with killers handling a knife, ice pick or axe. This time, three sociopaths — call them Dollface, Pin-Up and Man in a Mask — butcher two seniors and learn from an answering machine that relatives are on the way. Mom (Christina Hendricks) and Dad (Martin Henderson) arrive with son Luke (Lewis Pullman) while on their way to deliver troubled daughter Kinsey (Bailee Madison) to boarding school. Soon, all are separated, cell phones destroyed. Roberts juggles ’80s music and tense silence to enhance a few jump-scares. In an effort to avoid predictability, he ventures into silly boogie-man territory. Gore levels are inconsistent but, to the filmmaker’s credit, his stars at least seem to enjoy the chase as much as the kills.

R: Horror violence and terror , and language — Premiere Cinemas, Tinseltown 17 and Movies 16.

Thoroughbreds

Two upper-class teenage girls in suburban Connecticut rekindle an unlikely friendship after years of growing apart. Together, they hatch a plan to solve both of their problems by killing the stepfather of one.

R: Disturbing behavior, bloody images, language, sexual references, and some drug content — Alamo Drafthouse.

A Wrinkle in Time (3-D/2-D)

Kerns rating: Two stars

This is just a bump in director Ava DuVernay’s career. She already proved her chops. “Selma” was Oscar-nominated for Best Picture, and DuVernay’s amazing documentary “13th” (on Netflix) emerged educational, challenging and important. The next step for anyone in her place was to say yes when Disney came calling with a bucket of cash and a challenging story, dominated by a visual effects budget and bad dialogue. Major filmmakers had shied away from popular book “A Wrinkle in Time” since the 1960s. Now we know why. The script finds young girl Meg (Storm Reid) and little brother Charles Wallace (Deric McCabe) grieving for their dad (Chris Pine, scientist), who disappeared four years ago. The children are encouraged to save their dad and the world by Reese Witherspoon as Mrs. Whatsit, Mindy Kaling as Mrs. Who and Oprah Winfrey as Mrs. Which. Skipping ahead (spoilers), Meg finds self-confidence and we were bound to be reminded about the power of love. Special effects and pop songs both border on lame. Adventures never becomes fun. I look forward to DuVernay being given another great script, or maybe an opportunity to write one. I guarantee, she will survive this wrinkle.

PG: Thematic elements and peril — Alamo Drafthouse, Tinseltown 17, Movies 16 (includes XD) and Stars & Stripes Drive-In.

Ratings, from one to five stars, and reviews are by A-J Media film critic William Kerns.

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